GH  SCHOOL 


H-IRVING^HANCOCK 


THE 

HIGH  SCHOOL 
BOYS  SERIES 


'Now  Don't  Ye  Git  Festive  with  Mel" 


Frontispiece. 


The  High  School 
Pitcher 


Dick  &  Co  on  the  Gridley  Diamond 


H.  IRVING  HANCOCK 

Author  of  The  Motor  Boat  Club  Series,  The  High  School  Fkethme* 
The  High  School  Left  End,  Ete,  Etc. 


Illustrated 


PHILADELPHIA 
HENRY  ALTEMUS  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY  HOWARD  E.  ALTEMUS 


PRINTED  IN  THE 
UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


SRLF 
URL 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER                                                                           PAGE 
I.  THE  PRINCIPAL  HEARS  SOMETHING   AJBOUT  PEN- 
NIES           7 

II.  DICK  TAKES  UP  His  PEN 31 

III.  MR.  CANTWELL  THINKS  TWICE — OR  UFTENER 39 

IV.  DAVD  WARNS  TIP  SCAMMON 54 

V.  KIPLBY  LEARNS  THAT  THE  PIPER  MUST  BE  PAID.  .     60 

VI.  THB  CALL  TO  THE  DIAMOND — FRED  SCHEMES 68 

VII.  DAV*  TALKS  WITH  ONE  HAND 81 

VIII.  HUH  ?    WOOLLY  CROCHETED  SLIPPERS 92 

IX.  FRED    PITCHES    A    BOMBSHELL    INTO    TRAINING 

CAMP 100 

X.  DICK  &  Co.  TAKE  A  TURN  AT  FEELING  GLUM 108 

XI.  THE  THIRD  PARTY'S  AMAZEMENT 115 

XII.  TRYING  OUT  THE  PITCHERS 123 

XIII.  THE  EIOT  CALL  AND  OTHER  LITTLE  THINGS 137 

XIV.  THE  STEAM  OP  THE  BATSMAN 149 

XV.  A  DASTARD'S  WORK  IN  THE  DARK 157 

XVI.  THE  HOUR  OF  TORMENTING  DOUBT 165 

XVII.  WHEN  THE  HOME  FANS  QUIVERED 177 

XVIII.  THE  GRIT  OF  THE  GRAND  OLD  GAME 182 

XIX.  SOME  MEAN  TRICKS  LEFT  OVER 195 

XX.  CONCLUSION...  ..204 


The  High  School  Pitcher 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  PRINCIPAL  HEAES  SOMETHING  ABOUT 
"PENNIES" 

CLANG! 
"Attention,  please." 

The  barely  audible  droning  of  study 
ceased  promptly  in  the  big  assembly  room  of 
the  Gridley  High  School. 

The  new  principal,  who  had  just  stepped  into 
the  room,  and  who  now  stood  waiting  behind  his 
flat-top  desk  on  the  platform,  was  a  tall,  thin, 
severe-looking  man  of  thirty-two  or  three. 

For  this  year  Dr.  Carl  Thornton,  beloved 
principal  for  a  half-score  of  years,  was  not  in 
command  at  the  school.  Ill  health  had  forced 
the  good  old  doctor  to  take  at  least  a  year's  rest, 
and  this  stranger  now  sat  in  the  Thornton  chair. 

"Mr.  Harper,"  almost  rasped  out  Mr.  Cant- 
well's  voice,  "stop  rustling  that  paper." 

Harper,  a  little  freshmen,  who  had  merely 
meant  to  slip  the  paper  inside  his  desk,  and  who 
was  not  making  a  disturbing  noise  thereby, 

7 


8         THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

flushed  pink  and  sat  immobile,  the  paper  swing- 
ing from  one  hand. 

From  the  principal's  attitude  and  his  look  of 
seriousness,  something  unusual  was  pending. 
Some  of  the  girls  permitted  their  apprehension 
to  be  seen.  On  the  faces  of  several  of  the  boys 
rested  a  look  of  half  defiance,  for  this  principal 
was  unpopular,  and,  by  the  students,  was  con- 
sidered unjust. 

"It  being  now  in  the  early  part  of  Decem- 
ber," went  on  Mr.  Cantwell,  "we  shall,  on  Mon- 
day, begin  rehearsing  the  music  for  the  special 
exercises  to  be  held  in  this  school  on  the  day  be- 
fore Christmas.  To  that  end,  each  of  you 
found,  on  returning  from  recess,  the  new  Christ- 
mas music  on  your  desk." 

Mr.  Cantwell  paused  an  instant  for  this  im- 
portant information  to  sink  in.  Several  slight, 
little  sighs  of  relief  escaped  the  students,  es- 
pecially from  the  girls'  side  of  the  great  room. 
This  speech  did  not  presage  anything  very 
dreadful  to  come. 

"This  sheet  music,"  continued  Mr.  Cantwell, 
"is  to  be  sold  to  the  pupils  at  cost  to  the  Board 
of  Education.  This  cost  price  is  fifteen  cents. ' ' 

Again  Mr.  Cantwell  paused.  It  was  a  trick  of 
his,  a  personal  peculiarity.  Then  he  permit- 
ted himself  a  slight  smile  as  he  added: 

"This  being  Friday,  I  will  ask  you  all  to  be 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER         9 

sure  to  bring,  on  Monday  morning,  the  money, 
which  you  will  pay  to  me.  Don 't  forget,  please ; 
each  of  you  bring  me  his  little  fifteen  pennies. 
Now,  return  to  your  studies  until  the  beginning 
of  the  fourth  period  is  announced." 

As  he  bent  his  head  low  behind  a  bulky  text- 
book, Dan  Dalzell,  of  the  sophomore  class, 
glanced  over  at  Dick  Prescott  with  sparkling 
mischief  gleaming  in  his  eyes. 

Dick,  who  was  now  a  sophomore,  and  one  of 
the  assured  leaders  in  sports  and  fun,  guessed 
that  Dan  Dalzell  was  hatching  another  of  the 
wild  schemes  for  which  Dalzell  was  somewhat 
famous.  Dick  even  guessed  that  he  knew  about 
what  was  passing  in  Dan's  mind. 

Though  moderate  whispering  was  permitted, 
at  need,  in  the  assembly  room,  there  was  no 
chance  for  Dick  and  Dan  to  pass  even  a  word  at 
this  time,  for  almost  immediately  the  bell  for 
the  fourth  period  of  the  morning's  work 
sounded,  and  the  sections  rose  and  filed  out  to 
the  various  recitation  rooms. 

To  readers  of  the  preceding  volume  in  this 
series,  Dick  &  Co.  will  need  no  introduction. 
All  six  of  the  youngsters  were  very  well  intro- 
duced in  "The  High  School  Freshmen." 

Such  readers  will  remember  their  first  view 
of  Dick  &  Co.  With  brown-haired  Dick  Pres- 
cott as  leader,  the  other  members  of  this  unique 


10       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

firm  of  High  School  youngsters,  were  Tom 
Eeade,  Dan  Dalzell,  Harry  Hazelton,  Gregory 
Holmes  and  Dave  Darrin. 

The  six  had  been  chums  at  the  Central  Gram- 
mar School,  and  had  stuck  together  like  burrs 
through  the  freshman  year  at  the  Gridley  High 
School.  In  fact,  even  in  their  freshmen  period, 
when  new  students  are  not  expected  to  have 
much  to  say,  and  are  given  no  chance  at  the 
school  athletics,  Dick  &  Co.  had  made  themselves 
abundantly  felt. 

Our  readers  will  recall  how  the  Board  of 
Education  had  some  notion  of  prohibiting  High 
School  football,  despite  the  fact  that  the  Grid- 
ley  H.  S.  eleven  was  one  of  the  best  in  the 
United  States.  Readers  will  also  recall  the 
prank  hatched  by  Dick  &  Co.,  by  means  of  which 
the  Board  was  quickly  shown  how  unpopular 
such  a  move  would  be  in  the  city. 

Our  readers  will  also  recollect  that,  though 
freshmen  were  barred  from  active  part  in 
sports,  yet  Dick  &  Co.  found  the  effective  way  of 
raising  plentiful  funds  for  the  Athletics  Com- 
mittee. In  the  annual  paper  chase  the  fresh- 
men hounds,  under  Dick  Prescott's  captaincy, 
beat  the  sophomore  hares — for  the  first  time  in 
many  years.  In  the  skating  events,  later  on, 
Dick  and  his  chums  captured,  for  the  freshman 
class,  three  of  the  eight  events.  From  the  start, 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       U 

Dick  &  Co.  had  shown  great  ingenuity  i& 
"boosting"  football,  in  return  for  which,  many 
of  the  usual  restrictions  on  freshmen  were 
waived  where  Dick  &  Co.  were  concerned. 

In  the  nearly  three  months,  now,  that  the  new 
school  year  had  gone  along,  Dick  &  Co.  had 
proved  that,  as  sophs,  they  were  youngsters  of 
great  importance  in  the  student  body.  They 
were  highly  popular  with  most  of  their  fellow- 
students;  but  of  course  that  very  popularity 
made  them  some  enemies  among  those  who  en- 
vied or  disliked  them. 

For  one  thing,  neither  Dick  nor  any  of  hia 
partners  came  of  families  of  any  wealth.  Yet 
it  was  inevitable  that  some  of  the  boys  and  girls 
of  Gridley  H.  S.  should  come  from  families  of 
more  or  less  wealth. 

It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  most  of  these  scions 
of  the  wealthier  families  were  agreeable,  affable 
and  democratic — in  a  word,  Americans  without 
any  regard  to  the  size  of  the  family  purse. 

A  few  of  the  wealthier  young  people,  however, 
made  no  secret  of  their  dislike  for  smiling, 
happy,  capable  Dick  &  Co.  One  of  the  leaders 
in  this  feeling  was  Fred  Kipley,  son  of  a 
wealthy,  retired  lawyer. 

During  the  skating  events  of  the  preceding 
winter,  Dick  Prescott,  aided  by  his  chums,  had 
saved  the  life  of  Ripley,  who  had  gone  through 


12       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

thin  ice.  However,  so  haughty  a  young  man  as 
Fred  Ripley,  though  he  had  been  slightly  affec- 
ted by  the  brave  generosity,  could  not  quite 
bring  himself  to  regard  Dick  as  other  than  an  in- 
terloper in  High  School  life. 

Ripley  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  bribe  Tip 
Scammon,  worthless,  profligate  son  of  the  hon- 
est old  janitor  of  the  High  School,  to  commit 
a  series  of  robberies  from  the  locker  rooms  in 
the  school  basement  while  Dick  carried  the  key 
as  monitor  there.  The  "  plunder "  had  been 
found  in  Dick's  own  room  at  home,  and  the 
young  man  had  been  suspended  from  the  High 
School  for  a  while.  Thanks,  however,  to  Laura 
Bentley  and  Belle  Meade,  two  girls  then  fresh- 
men and  now  sophs,  Tip  had  been  run  down. 
Then  the  police  made  Tip  confess,  and  he  was 
sent  away  to  the  penitentiary  for  a  short  term. 
Tip,  however,  refused  to  the  last  to  name  his 
accomplice.  Dick  knew  that  Ripley  was  the  ac- 
complice, but  kept  his  silence,  preferring  to 
fight  all  his  own  battles  by  himself. 

So  Fred  Ripley  was  now  a  junior,  in  good 
standing  as  far  as  scholarship  and  school  rec- 
ord went. 

So  far,  during  this  new  year,  Ripley  had  man- 
aged to  smother  his  hatred  for  Dick  &  Co.,  es- 
pecially for  Dick  himself. 

Lessons  and  recitations  on  this  early  Decem- 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       13 

ber  morning  went  off  as  usual.  In  time  the 
hands  of  the  clock  moved  around  to  one  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  at  which  time  the  High  School 
closed  for  the  day. 

The  partners  of  Dick  &  Co.  went  down  the 
steps  of  the  building  and  all  soon  found  their 
way  through  the  surging  crowds  of  escaped  stu- 
dents. This  sextette  turned  down  one  of  the 
streets  and  trudged  along  together.  At  first 
several  of  the  other  High  School  boys  walked 
along  near  them.  Finally,  however,  the  crowd 
thinned  away  until  only  Dick  &  Co.  were  to- 
gether. 

"Dan,"  said  Dick,  smilingly,  "something 
struck  you  hard  this  morning,  when  Mr.  Cant- 
well  asked  us  all  to  bring  the  music-money  on 
Monday." 

"He  didn't  say  exactly  'money,'  "  retorted 
Dan  Dalzell,  quickly.  "What  Prin.  did  say  was 
that  each  one  of  us  was  to  bring  fifteen  pen- 
nies." 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  laughed  Dick. 

"Now,  we  couldn't  have  held  that  mob  when 
school  let  out,"  pursued  Dan.  "And  now  it's 
too  late.  But  say,  if  the  Prin.  had  only  sprung 
that  on  us  before  recess " 

"Well,  suppose  he  had?"  interrrupted  Greg 
Holmes,  a  trifle  impatiently. 

"Why,  then,"  retorted  Dan,  mournfully,  "we 


14       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

could  have  passed  word  around,  at  recess,  to 
have  everybody  bring  just  what  the  Prin.  called 
for — pennies!" 

"Hm!"  grinned  Dave  Darrin,  who  was  never 
slow  to  see  the  point  of  anything.  "Then  you 
had  a  vision  of  the  unpopular  Prin.  being 
swamped  under  a  deluge  of  pennies — plain,  in- 
dividual little  copper  cents !" 

"That's  it!"  agreed  Dan.  "But  now,  we 
won't  see  more  than  a  few  before  we  go  to  school 
again  Monday.  Oh — wow!  What  a  chance 
that  takes  away  from  us.  Just  imagine  the 
Prin.  industriously  counting  away  at  thousands 
of  pennies,  and  a  long  line  of  boy  and  girl  stu- 
dents in  line,  each  one  waiting  to  pass  him  an- 
other handful  of  pennies!  Say,  can  you  see  the 
Prin. — just  turning  white  and  muttering  to  him- 
self? But  there's  no  chance  to  get  the  word 
around,  now!" 

"We  don't  need  to  get  the  word  around," 
smiled  Dick.  "If  we  passed  the  word  around, 
it  might  get  to  the  Prin.'s  ears  before  Monday, 
and  he  'd  hatch  up  some  way  to  head  us  off. ' ' 

"If  you  can  see  how  to  work  the  trick  at  this 
late  hour,  you  can  see  further  than  I  can, ' '  mut- 
tered Dan,  rather  enviously. 

"Oh,  Dick  has  the  scheme  hatching,  or  he 
wouldn't  talk  about  it,"  declared  Dave  Darrin, 
confidently. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHEE       15 

"Why,  if  all  you  want  is  to  send  the  whole 
student  body  on  Monday  morning,  each  with 
fifteen  copper  cents  to  hand  the  Prin.,  that  can 
be  fixed  up  easily  enough/'  Dick  pronounced, 
judicially. 

"How  are  we  going  to  do  it!"  asked  Dalzell, 
dubiously. 

"Well,  let  us  see  how  many  pennies  would 
be  needed  ?  There  are  close  to  two  hundred  and 
fifty  students,  but  a  few  might  refuse  to  go  into 
the  trick.  Let  us  say  two  hundred  and  forty 
times  fifteen.  That's  thirty-six  hundred,  isn't 
it?  That  means  we  want  to  get  thirty-six  dol- 
lars' worth  of  pennies.  Well,  we'll  get  them!" 

"We  will?"  demanded  Dan,  with  a  snort. 
"Dick,  unless  you've  got  more  cash  on  hand 
than  the  rest  of  us  then  I  don't  believe  a  drag- 
net search  of  this  crowd  would  turn  up  two  dol- 
lars. Thirty-six?  That's  going  some  and  half- 
way back!" 

"There  are  three  principal  ways  of  buying 
goods  of  any  kind, ' '  Dick  continued.  ' l  One  way 
is  with  cash " 

"That's  the  street  we  live  on!"  broke  in 
Harry  Hazelton,  with  a  laugh. 

"The  second  way,"  Dick  went  on,  "is  to  pay 
with  a  check.  But  you  must  have  cash  at  the 
bank  behind  the  check,  or  you  get  into  trouble. 
Now  the  third  way  is  to  buy  goods  on  credit." 


16       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"That's  just  as  bad,"  protested  Dan. 
"Where,  in  the  whole  town,  could  a  bunch  of 
youngsters  like  us,  get  thirty-six  dollars'  worth 
of  real  credit?" 

"I  can,"  declared  Dick,  coolly. 

"YouT    Where?    With  your  "father?" 

"No;  Dad  rarely  takes  in  much  in  the  way 
of  pennies.  I  don't  suppose  he  has  two  dollars' 
worth  of  pennies  on  hand  at  any  time.  But, 
fellows,  you  know  that  'The  Morning  Blade'  is 
a  one  cent  paper.  Now,  the  publisher  of  'The 
Blade'  must  bank  a  keg  of  pennies  every  day 
in  the  week.  I  can  see  Mr.  Pollock,  the  editor, 
this  afternoon,  right  after  luncheon.  He  has 
probably  sent  most  of  the  pennies  to  bank  to- 
day, but  I'll  ask  him  if  he'll  have  to-morrow's 
pennies  saved  for  us." 

"Say,  if  he'll  only  do  that!"  glowed  Dan,  his 
eyes  flashing. 

1  i  He  will, ' '  declared  Dave  Darrin.  ' '  Mr.  Pol- 
lock will  do  anything,  within  reason,  that  Dick 
asks." 

"Now,  fellows,  if  I  can  put  this  thing 
through,  we  can  meet  in  my  room  to-morrow 
afternoon  at  one  o  'clock.  Pennies  come  in  rolls 
of  fifty  each,  you  know.  We'll  have  to  break 
up  the  rolls,  and  make  new  ones,  each  contain- 
ing fifteen  pennies." 

Dave  Darrin  stopped  where  he  was,  and  be- 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHES       17 

gan  to  laugh.  Tom  Reade  quickly  joined  in. 
The  others  were  grinning. 

* '  Oh,  say,  just  for  one  look  at  Prin.  's  face,  if 
we  can  spring  that  job  on  him!"  chuckled 
Harry  Hazelton. 

"We  can,"  announced  Dick,  gravely.  "So 
go  home  and  enjoy  your  dinners,  fellows.  If 
you  want  to  meet  on  the  same  old  corner  on 
Main  Street,  at  half -past  two  to-day,  we'll  go 
in  a  body  to  'The  Blade'  office  and  learn  what 
Mr.  Pollock  has  to  say  about  our  credit. ' ' 

"Your  credit,  you  mean,"  corrected  Dave. 

After  dinner  Dick  &  Co.  met  as  agreed.  Ar- 
rived at  "The  Blade"  office  it  was  decided  that 
Dick  Prescott  should  go  in  alone  to  carry  on 
the  negotiation.  He  soon  came  out  again,  wear- 
ing a  satisfied  smile  and  carrying  a  package 
under  one  arm. 

"If  I'm  any  good  at  guessing,"  suggested 
Dave,  "you  put  the  deal  over." 

"Mr.  Pollock  agreed,  all  right,"  nodded  Dick. 
"I  have  fourteen  dollars  here.  He'll  let  us 
have  the  rest  to-morrow." 

They  hurried  back  to  Dick's  room,  over  the 
bookstore  that  was  run  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott, 

"Whew,  but  this  stuff  is  heavy,"  muttered 
Dick,  dumping  the  package  on  the  table.  "Mr. 
Pollock  sent  out  to  the  pressroom  and  had  some 

»— The  High  School  Pitcher. 


18       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

paper  cut  of  just  the  size  that  we  shall  need  for 
wrappers." 

"Did  you  tell  Pollock  what  we  are  going  tc 
do  ? "  asked  Greg  Holmes. 

"Not  exactly,  but  he  guessed  that  some  mis- 
chief was  on.  He  wanted  to  know  if  it  was  any- 
thing that  would  make  good  local  reading  in 
'The  Blade,'  so  I  told  him  I  thought  it  would 
be  worth  a  paragraph  or  two,  and  that  I  'd  drop 
around  Monday  afternoon  and  give  him  the  par- 
ticulars. That  was  all  I  said." 

Inside  the  package  were  three  "sticks"  of  the 
kind  that  are  used  for  laying  the  little  coins  in 
a  row  before  wrapping. 

"Now,  one  thing  we  must  be  dead  careful 
about,  fellows,"  urged  Dick,  as  he  undid  the 
package,  "is  to  be  sure  that  we  get  an  exact 
fifteen  coins  in  each  wrapper.  If  we  got  in 
more,  we'd  be  the  losers.  If  we  put  less  than 
fifteen  cents  in  any  wrapper,  then  we're  likely 
to  be  accused  of  running  a  swindling  game. ' ' 

So  every  one  of  the  plotters  was  most  careful 
to  count  the  coins.  It  was  not  rapid  work,  and 
only  half  the  partners  could  work  at  any  one 
time.  They  soon  caught  the  trick  of  wrapping, 
however,  and  then  the  little  rolls  began  to  pile 
up. 

Saturday  afternoon  Dick  &  Co.  were  similarly 
engaged.  Nor  did  they  find  the  work  too  hard. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       19 

Americans  will  endure  a  good  deal  for  the  sake 
of  a  joke. 

Monday  morning,  shortly  after  half-past 
seven,  Dick  and  his  chums  had  stationed  them- 
selves along  six  different  approaches  to  the 
High  School.  Each  young  pranker  had  his 
pockets  weighted  down  with  small  packages, 
each  containing  fifteen  pennies. 

Purcell,  of  the  junior  class,  was  the  first  to 
pass  Dick  Prescott. 

"Hullo,  Purcell,"  Dick  greeted  the  other,  with 
a  grin.  "Want  to  see  some  fun!" 

"Of  course,"  nodded  the  junior.  "What's 
going?" 

"You  remember  that  Prin.  asked  us,  last 
Friday,  to  hring  in  our  fifteen  pennies  for  the 
Christmas  music?" 

"Of  course.  Well,  I  have  my  money  in  my 
pocket." 

"In  pennies?''  insisted  Dick. 

"Well,  no ;  of  course  not.  But  I  have  a  quar- 
ter, and  I  guess  Prin.  can  change  that." 

Dick  quickly  explained  the  scheme.  Purcell, 
with  a  guffaw,  purchased  one  of  the  rolls. 

"Now,  see  here,"  hinted  Dick,  "there'll  be 
such  a  rush,  soon,  that  we  six  can't  attend  to  all 
the  business.  Won't  you  take  a  dozen  rolls  and 
peddle  them?  I'll  charge  'em  to  you,  until  you 
can  make  an  accounting." 


20       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Purcell  caught  at  the  hait  with  another  laugh. 
Dick  noted  Purcell 's  name  on  a  piece  of  paper, 
with  a  dollar  and  eighty  cents  charged  against 
II 

All  the  other  partners  did  the  same  with  other 
students.  With  such  a  series  of  pickets  out 
around  the  school  none  of  the  student  body  got 
through  without  buying  pennies,  except  Fred 
Ripley  and  Clara  Deane.  They  were  not  asked 
to  buy. 

Meanwhile,  up  in  the  great  assembly  room  a 
scene  was  going  on  that  was  worth  looking  at. 

Abner  Cantwell  had  seated  himself  at  his 
desk.  Before  him  lay  a  printed  copy  of  the  roll 
of  the  student  body.  It  was  the  new  princi- 
pal's intention  to  check  off  each  name  as  a  boy 
or  girl  paid  for  the  music.  Knowing  that  he 
would  have  a  good  deal  of  currency  to  handle, 
the  principal  had  brought  along  a  satchel  for 
this  morning. 

First  of  all,  Harper  came  tripping  into  the 
room.  He  went  to  his  desk  with  his  books,  then 
turned  and  marched  to  the  principal's  desk. 

"I've  brought  the  money  for  the  music,  Mr. 
Cantwell." 

"That's  right,  Mr.  Harper,"  nodded  the 
principal. 

The  little  freshman  carefully  deposited  his 
fifteen  pennies  on  the  desk.  They  were  out  of 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       21 

the  roll.  Dick  &  Co.  had  cautioned  each  inves- 
tor to  break  the  wrapper,  and  count  the  pennies 
before  moving  on. 

Two  of  the  seniors  presently  came  in.  They 
settled  with  pennies.  Then  came  Laura  Bent- 
ley  and  Belle  Meade.  Their  pennies  were  laid 
on  the  principal's  desk. 

"Why,  all  pennies,  so  far!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Cantwell.  "I  trust  not  many  will  bring  coins 
of  such  low  denomination." 

A  look  of  bland  innocence  rested  on  Laura 's 
face. 

"Why,  sir,"  she  remarked,  "you  asked  us, 
Friday,  to  bring  pennies/' 

"Did  I?"  demanded  the  principal,  a  look  of 
astonishment  on  his  face. 

"Why,  yes,  sir,"  Belle  Meade  rattled  on. 
"Don't  you  remember?  You  laughed,  Mr. 
Cantwell,  and  asked  each  one  of  us  to  bring  fif- 
teen pennies  to-day." 

' '  I  had  forgotten  that,  Miss  Meade, ' '  returned 
the  principal.  Then,  as  the  sophomore  young 
ladies  turned  away,  a  look  of  suspicion  began 
to  settle  on  the  principal's  face.  Nor  did  that 
look  lessen  any  when  the  next  six  students  to 
come  in  each  carried  pennies  to  the  desk. 

Twenty  more  brought  pennies.  By  this  time 
there  was  a  stern  look  on  the  principal's  white 
face. 


22       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Dnring  the  next  few  minutes  after  that  only 
two  or  three  came  in,  for  Dick  had  thought  of 
a  new  aspect  to  the  joke.  He  had  sent  messen- 
gers scurrying  out  through  the  street  approaches 
with  this  message : 

"We're  not  required  to  be  in  the  assembly 
room  until  eight  o'clock.  Let's  all  wait  until 
two  minutes  of  eight — then  go  in  a  throng." 

So  the  principal  had  a  chance  to  catch  up  with 
his  counting  as  the  minutes  passed.  So  busy 
was  he,  however,  that  it  didn't  quite  occur  to 
him  to  wonder  why  so  few  of  the  student  body 
had  as  yet  come  in. 

Then,  at  7.58,  a  resounding  tread  was  heard 
on  the  stairs  leading  up  from  the  basement 
locker  rooms.  Some  two  hundred  boys  and  girls 
were  coming  up  in  two  separate  throngs.  They 
were  still  coming  when  the  assembly  bell  rang. 
As  fast  as  any  entered  they  made  their  way, 
with  solemn  faces,  to  the  desk  on  the  platform. 

As  Mr.  Cantwell  had  feared,  the  pennies  still 
continued  to  pour  in  upon  him.  Suddenly  the 
principal  struck  his  desk  sharply  with  a  ruler, 
then  leaped  to  his  feet.  His  face  was  whiter 
than  ever.  It  was  plain  that  the  man  was 
struggling  to  control  himself  against  an  outburst 
of  wrath.  He  even  forced  a  smile  to  his  face — 
E  sort  of  smile  that  had  no  mirth  in  it. 

"Young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen,"  Mr. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       23 

Cantwell  rasped  out,  sharply,  "some  of  you  have 
seen  fit  to  plan  a  joke  against  me,  and  to  carry 
it  out  most  audaciously.  It's  a  good  joke,  and 
I  admit  that  it's  on  me.  But  it  has  been  car- 
ried far  enough.  If  you  please — no  more  pen- 
nies!" 

"But  pennies  are  all  I  happen  to  have,  sir," 
protested  Dave  Darrin,  stepping  forward. 
"Don't  you  want  me  to  pay  you  for  the  music, 
sir?" 

"Oh,  well,"  replied  the  principal,  with  a  sigh, 
"I '11  take  'em,  then." 

As  Dick  &  Co.  had  disposed  of  every  one  of 
their  little  rolls  of  fifteen,  few  of  the  students 
were  unprovided  with  pennies.  So  the  copper 
stream  continued  to  pour  in.  Mr.  Cantwell 
could  have  called  any  or  all  of  his  submasters 
and  teachers  to  his  aid.  He  thought  of  it 
presently,  as  his  fingers  ached  from  handling  all 
the  pennies. 

"Mr.  Drake,  will  you  come  to  the  desk?"  he 
called. 

So  Submaster  Drake  came  to  the  platform, 
drawing  a  chair  up  beside  the  principal's.  But 
Mr.  Cantwell  still  felt  obliged  to  do  the  count- 
ing, as  he  was  responsible  for  the  correctness 
of  the  sums.  So  all  Mr.  Drake  could  do  was 
check  off  the  names  as  the  principal  called 
jthtm. 


24       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Faster  and  faster  poured  the  copper  stream 
now.  Mr.  Cantwell,  the  cords  sticking  out  on 
his  forehead,  and  a  clammy  dew  bespangling  his 
white  face,  counted  on  in  consuming  anger. 
Every  now  and  then  he  turned  to  dump  two  or 
three  handfuls  of  counted  pennies  into  his  open 
satchel. 

Gathered  all  around  the  desk  was  a  throng  of 
students,  waiting  to  pay.  Beyond  this  throng, 
safely  out  of  range  of  vision,  other  students 
gathered  in  groups  and  chuckled  almost  silently. 

Clatter!  By  an  unintentional  move  of  one 
arm  Mr.  Cantwell  swept  fully  a  hundred  pennies 
off  on  to  the  floor.  He  leaped  up,  flushed  and 
angry. 

"Will  the  young — gentlemen — aid  me  in  re- 
covering the  coins  that  went  on  the  floor?"  he 
asked. 

There  was  promptly  a  great  scurrying  and 
searching.  The  principal  surely  felt  harassed 
that  morning.  It  was  ten  minutes  of  nine  when 
the  last  student  had  paid  and  had  had  his  name 
checked  off.  Mr.  Cantwell  was  at  the  boiling 
point  of  wrath. 

Just  as  the  principal  was  putting  the  last  of 
the  coins  into  his  satchel  Mr.  Drake  leaned  over 
to  whisper: 

"May  I  make  a  suggestion,  sir?" 

"Certainly,"   replied    the  principal   coldly. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       25 

"Yet  I  trust,  Mr.  Drake,  that  it  won't  be  a  sug- 
gestion for  an  easy  way  of  accumulating  more 
pennies  than  I  already  have." 

"I  think,  if  I  were  you,  sir,  I  should  pay  no 
heed  to  this  joke " 

"Joke?"  hissed  the  principal  under  his 
breath.  "It's  an  outrage!" 

"But  intended  only  as  a  piece  of  pleasantry, 
sir.  So  I  think  it  will  pass  off  much  better  if 
you  don't  allow  the  students  to  see  that  they 
have  annoyed  you." 

' '  Why  ?  Do  the  students  want  to  annoy  me  ? ' ' 
demanded  Mr.  Cantwell,  in  another  angry  un- 
dertone. 

"I  wouldn't  say  that,"  replied  Mr.  Drake. 
"But,  if  the  young  men  discover  that  you  are 
easily  teased,  they  are  sufficiently  mischief- 
loving  to  try  other  jokes  on  you." 

"Then  a  good  friend  of  theirs  would  advise 
them  not  to  do  so, ' '  replied  Mr.  Cantwell,  with 
a  snap  of  his  jaws. 

That  closed  the  matter  for  the  time  being. 
The  first  recitation  period  of  the  morning  had 
been  lost,  but  now  the  students,  most  of  them 
finding  difficulty  in  suppressing  their  chuckles, 
were  sent  to  the  various  class  rooms. 

Before  recess  came,  the  principal  having  a 
period  free  from  class  work,  silently  escaped 
from  the  building,  carrying  the  thirty-six  hun- 


26       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

dred  pennies  to  the  bank.  As  that  number  of 
pennies  weighs  something  more  than  twenty- 
three  pounds,  the  load  was  not  a  light  one. 

"I  have  a  big  lot  of  pennies  here  that  I  want 
to  deposit, ' '  he  explained  to  the  receiving  teller. 

"How  many?"  asked  the  teller. 

"Thirty-six  hundred,"  replied  Mr.  Cantwell. 

"Are  they  counted  and  done  up  into  rolls  of 
fifty,  with  your  name  on  each  roll?"  asked  the 
teller. 

"Why — er — no,"  stammered  the  principal. 
"They're  just  loose — in  bulk,  I  mean." 

"Then  I'm  very  sorry,  Mr.  Cantwell,  but  we 
can't  receive  them  in  that  shape,  sir.  They  will 
have  to  be  counted  and  wrapped,  and  your  name 
written  on  each  roll." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  must  take  these 
pennies  home,  count  them  all — again ! — and  then 
wrap  them  and  sign  the  wrappers." 

"I'm  sorry,  but  you,  or  some  one  will  have  to 
do  it,  Mr.  Cantwell." 

Then  and  there  the  principal  exploded.  One 
man  there  was  in  the  bank  at  that  moment  who 
was  obliged  to  turn  his  head  away  and  stifle 
back  the  laughter.  That  man  was  Mr.  Pollock, 
of  ' '  The  Blade. ' '  Pollock  knew  now  what  Dick 
&  Co.  had  wanted  of  such  a  cargo  of  pennies. 

"I  can't  carry  this  infernal  satchel  back  to 
school,"  groaned  the  principal,  disgustedly. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       27 

"Some  of  the  boys,  when  they  see  me,  will 
realize  that  the  satchel  is  still  loaded,  and  they'll 
know  what  has  happened  to  me  at  the  bank.  It 
will  make  me  look  fearfully  ridiculous  to  be 
caught  in  that  fashion,  with  the  joke  against 
me  a  second  time!  And  yet  I  have  a  class  im- 
mediately after  recess.  What  can  I  do  ? " 

A  moment  later,  however,  he  had  solved  the 
problem.  There  was  a  livery  stable  not  far 
away,  and  he  knew  the  proprietor.  So  to  that 
stable  Mr.  Cantwell  hurried,  changing  the 
satchel  from  one  hand  to  the  other  whenever  an 
arm  ached  too  much. 

"This  satchel  contains  a  lot  of  currency,  Mr. 
Getchel,"  explained  the  poor  principal.  "I 
wish  you  could  do  me  the  favor  of  having  a 
horse  hitched  up  and  take  this  to  my  wife.  Will 
you  do  it?" 

"Certainly,"  nodded  the  liveryman.  "Just 
lock  the  satchel;  that  is  all.  I'll  have  the  bag 
at  your  home  within  fifteen  minutes." 

So  during  the  first  period  after  recess  Mrs. 
Cantwell  was  visited  by  Getchel,  who  handed  her 
the  satchel,  merely  remarking: 

"Mr.  Cantwell  left  this  at  my  office,  ma'am, 
and  asked  me  to  bring  it  down  to  you.  It  con- 
tains some  money  that  your  husband  sent  you." 

Money?  The  good  woman,  who  "loved" 
money  too  well  to  spend  much  of  it,  hefted  the 


28       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

satchel.  Gracious!  There  must  be  a  big  lot 
of  the  valuable  stuff.  But  the  satchel  was 
locked.  Mrs.  Cantwell  promptly  hunted  until 
she  found  another  satchel  key  that  fitted.  Then 
she  opened  the  bag,  staring  at  the  contents  with 
big  eyes. 

"What  on  earth  can  my  husband  have  been 
doing  ? ' '  she  wondered.  ' '  Surely  he  hasn  't  been 
robbing  the  Salvation  Army  Christmas  boxes! 
And  the  idea  of  sending  me  money  all  in  pen- 
nies!" 

The  more  she  thought  about  it  the  more  in- 
dignant did  Mrs.  Cantwell  become.  Finally,  a 
little  after  noon,  Mrs.  Cantwell  decided  to  take 
the  stuff  to  the  bank,  have  it  counted  and  turned 
over  into  greenbacks.  So  she  trudged  up  to 
the  bank  with  it.  The  journey  was  something 
more  than  a  mile  in  length.  Mrs.  Cantwell  ar- 
rived at  the  bank,  only  to  make  the  same  dis- 
covery that  her  husband  had  made  about  the 
need  of  counting  and  wrapping  the  money  be- 
fore it  could  be  deposited  or  exchanged.  It  was 
close  to  one  o'clock,  and  the  High  School  not 
far  away.  So,  full  of  ire,  Mrs.  Cantwell  started 
down  to  her  husband 's  place  of  employment. 

Once  school  let  out  for  the  day,  a  quarter  of  a 
thousand  members  of  the  student  body  went  off, 
full  of  glee,  to  spread  the  news  of  the  joke.  As 
they  hurried  along  many  of  the  students  noticed 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       29 

that  Mrs.  Cantwell  was  standing  not  far  from 
the  gate  and  that,  at  her  feet,  lay  her  husband's 
black  satchel.  Several  of  the  students  were 
quick  to  wonder  what  this  new  phase  of  the  mat- 
ter meant. 

After  school  was  dismissed  Fred  Kipley  re- 
mained behind,  strapping  several  books  to- 
gether. Then,  as  he  passed  the  principal's  desk, 
he  remarked: 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Cantwell,  that  some  of  the 
students  thought  that  a  very  funny  trick  that 
was  played  on  you  this  morning.  While  I  am 
speaking  of  it,  I  wish  to  assure  you,  sir,  that 
I  had  no  hand  in  the  outrage." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Mr. 
Eipley.  Some  day  I  hope  I  shall  have  a  notion 
who  did  originate  the  practical  joke." 

1  'I  don't  believe  you  would  have  to  guess  very 
long,  sir,"  Ripley  hinted. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  sir,  whenever  anything  of  that  sort 
is  hatched  up  in  this  school,  it's  generally  a 
pretty  dafe  guess  that  Dick  &  Co.  are  at  the 
bottom  of  it  all. ' ' 

"Dick  &  Co.?"  repeated  Mr.  Cantwell. 

"Dick  Prescott  and  his  chums,  sir,"  replied 
Ripley,  rapidly  naming  the  five  partners.  Then, 
having  accomplished  what  he  wanted,  Fred 
sauntered  out. 


"I'll  look  into  this  further,"  thought  Mr. 
Cantwell,  angrily.  "If  I  ean  satisfy  myself  that 
Prescott  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  wicked  hoax 
then  I — I  may  find  it  possible  to  make  him  want 
to  cut  his  High  School  course  short!" 

Mrs.  Cantwell  was  waiting  at  the  gate. 

"What  on  earth,  Abner,  did  you  mean  by 
sending  me  this  great  cartload  of  pennies!"  de- 
manded the  principal's  spouse.  "Here  I've 
taken  it  up  to  the  bank,  and  find  they  won't  ac- 
cept it — not  in  this  form,  anyway.  Now,  I've 
carried  it  this  far,  Abner,  and  you  may  carry  it 
the  rest  of  the  way  home." 

"Why — er — er "  stammered  the  prin- 
cipal. 

"Mr.  Getchel  brought  the  satchel  to  me,  and 
told  me  it  was  money  you  had  sent  me.  But  I 
want  to  say,  Abner,  that  of  all  the " 

At  this  moment  the  principal  picked  up  the 
hateful  satchel  and  the  pair  passed  out  of  hear- 
ing of  four  young  freshmen  who  had  hidden  near 
to  learn  what  the  mystery  of  the  satchel  meant. 
It  was  not  long,  either,  before  the  further  joke 
had  become  known  to  a  great  many  of  the  stu- 
dents. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHES       31 
CHAPTER  n 

DIOK  TAKES  UP  HIS  PBIT 

DICK  had  no  sooner  ventured  out  on  the 
street  after  dinner  than  he  encountered 
the  news  of  Mrs.  CantwelPs  meeting 
with  her  husband. 

But  Dick  did  not  linger  long  to  diseuss  the 
matter.  His  pockets  now  contained,  in  place 
of  pennies,  a  few  banknotes  and  many  dimes, 
pennies  and  nickels,  amounting  in  all  to  thirty- 
six  dollars.  He  was  headed  for  "The  Blade" 
office  to  settle  with  Mr.  Pollock. 

"I  think  I  can  tell  you  a  little  story  now,  that 
may  be  worth  a  paragraph  or  two,"  Dick  an- 
nounced after  he  had  counted  out  the  money 
and  had  turned  it  over  to  the  editor. 

1 '  You  played  a  little  joke  on  your  new  and  not 
wholly  popular  principal,  didn't  you?"  Mr.  Pol- 
lock asked,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

"Yes;  has  the  thing  reached  you  already?" 

"I  don't  know  the  whole  story  of  the  joke," 
Mr.  Pollock  replied,  "but  perhaps  I  can  tell 
you  one  side  of  it  that  you  don't  know." 

Thereupon  the  editor  described  Mr.  Cant- 
well's  visit  to  the  bank.  "Now,  I've  got  a  still 
further  side  to  the  story, ' '  Dick  continued,  and 


repeated  the  story  told  by  the  freshmen  of  how 
Mrs.  Cantwell  also  had  carried  the  money  to 
the  bank,  and  then,  still  carrying  it,  had  waited 
for  her  husband  at  the  school  gateway. 

Editor  Pollock  leaned  back,  laughing  until  the 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

"I'm  sorry  for  the  good  lady's  discomfiture," 
explained  the  editor,  presently.  "But  the  whole 
story  is  very,  very  funny." 

"Now,  I  guess  you  know  all  the  facts,"  fin- 
ished Dick  Prescott,  rising. 

"Yes,  but  I  haven't  a  single  reporter  about." 
Then,  after  a  pause,  "See  here,  Prescott,  why 
couldn  't  you  write  this  up  for  me  t ' ' 

"I?"  repeated  Dick,  astonished.  "I  never 
wrote  a  line  for  publication  in  my  life." 

"Everyone  who  does,  has  to  make  a  start 
some  time,"  replied  Mr.  Pollock.  "And  I  be- 
lieve you  could  write  it  up  all  right,  too.  See 
here,  Prescott,  just  go  over  to  that  desk.  There's 
a  stack  of  copy  paper  there.  Write  it  briefly 
and  crisply,  and,  for  delicacy's  sake,  leave  out 
all  that  relates  to  Mrs.  Cantwell.  No  use  in 
dragging  a  woman  into  a  hazing  scrape." 

Dick  went  over  to  the  desk,  picking  up  a  pen. 
For  the  fist  three  or  four  minutes  he  sat  staring 
at  the  paper,  the  desk,  the  floor,  the  wall  and 
the  street  door.  But  Mr.  Pollock  paid  no  heed 
to  him.  Then,  finally,  Dick  began  to  write.  As 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       33 

he  wrote  a  grin  came  to  his  face.  That  grin 
broadened  as  he  wrote  on.  At  last  he  took  the 
pages  over  to  Mr.  Pollock. 

"I  don't  suppose  that's  what  you  want,"  he 
said,  his  face  very  red,  "but  the  main  facts  are 
all  there." 

Laying  down  his  own  pen  Mr.  Pollock  read 
rapidly  but  thoughtfully.  The  editor  began  to 
laugh  again.  Then  he  laid  down  the  last  sheet. 

"Prescott,  that's  well  done.  There's  a  good 
reporter  lurking  somewhere  inside  of  you." 

Thrusting  one  hand  down  into  a  pocket  Mr. 
Pollock  brought  out  a  half-dollar,  which  he  ten- 
dered to  Dick. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  this?"  asked  the 
young  sophomore. 

"Anything  you  please,"  replied  the  editor. 
"The  money's  for  you." 

"For  me?"  gasped  Dick. 

"Yes,  of  course.  Didn't  you  write  this  yarn 
for  me  ?  Of  course '  The  Blade '  is  only  a  country 
daily,  and  our  space  rates  are  not  high.  But 
see  here,  Prescott,  I'll  pay  you  a  dollar  a 
column  for  anything  you  write  for  us  that  pos- 
sesses local  interest  enough  to  warrant  our  print- 
ing it.  Now,  while  going  to  the  High  School, 
why  can't  you  turn  reporter  in  your  spare  time, 
and  earn  a  little  pocket  money?" 

Again  Dick  gasped.    He  had  never  thought 

3—  Tin  High  School  Pitcher. 


34       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

of  himself  as  a  budding  young  journalist.  Yet, 
as  Mr.  Pollock  inquired,  "Why  not?"  Why 
not,  indeed! 

"Well,  how  do  you  think  you'd  like  to  work 
for  us  ? "  asked  Mr.  Pollock,  after  a  pause.  ' '  Of 
course  you  would  not  leave  the  High  School. 
You  would  not  even  neglect  your  studies  in  the 
least.  But  a  young  man  who  knows  almost 
everybody  in  Gridley,  and  who  goes  about  town 
as  much  as  you  do,  ought  to  be  able  to  pick  up 
quite  a  lot  of  newsy  stuff." 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  make  a  reporter  out  of 
myself,"  Dick  pondered. 

"The  way  to  answer  that  question  is  to  try," 
replied  Mr.  Pollock.  "For  myself,  I  think 
that,  with  some  training,  you'd  make  a  good 
reporter.  By  the  way,  Prescott,  have  you 
planned  on  what  you  mean  to  be  when  you're 
through  school!" 

"Why,  it  isn't  settled  yet,"  Dick  replied 
slowly.  "Father  and  mother  hope  to  be  able 
to  send  me  further  than  the  High  School,  and 
so  they've  suggested  that  I  wait  until  I'm 
fairly  well  through  before  I  decide  on  what  I 
want  to  be.  Then,  if  it's  anything  that  a  col- 
lege course  would  help  me  to,  they'll  try  to  pro- 
vide it." 

"What  would  you  like  most  of  all  in  the  world 
to  be?"  inquired  the  editor  of  "The  Blade." 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       35 

"A  soldier!"  replied  young  Prescott,  with 
great  promptness  and  emphasis. 

' '  Hm !  The  soldier  's  trade  is  rather  dull  these 
days,"  replied  the  editor.  "We're  becoming  a 
peaceful  people,  and  the  arbitrator's  word  does 
the  work  that  the  sword  used  to  do." 

"This  country  has  been  in  several  wars," 
argued  Dick,  "and  will  be  in  others  yet  to 
come.  In  times  of  peace  a  soldier's  duty  is  to 
fit  himself  for  the  war  time  that  is  to  come.  Oh, 
I  believe  there's  plenty,  always,  that  an  Ameri- 
can soldier  ought  to  be  doing." 

"Perhaps.  But  newspaper  work  is  the  next 
best  thing  to  soldiering,  anyway.  Prescott,  my 
boy,  the  reporter  of  to-day  is  the  descendant  of 
the  old  free-lance  soldier  of  fortune.  It  takes  a 
lot  of  nerve  to  be  a  reporter,  sometimes,  and  to 
do  one's  work  just  as  it  should  be  done.  The 
reporter's  life  is  almost  as  full  of  adventure  as 
the  soldier's.  And  there  are  no  'peace  times' 
for  the  reporter.  He  never  knows  when  his 
style  of  'war'  will  break  out.  But  I  must  get 
back  to  my  work.  Are  you  going  to  try  to  bring 
us  in  good  matter  at  a  dollar  a  column?" 

"Yes,  I  am,  thank  you,"  Dick  replied,  un- 
hesitatingly, now. 

' '  Good, ' '  nodded  Mr.  Pollock,  opening  one  of 
the  smaller  drawers  over  his  desk.  "Here's 
something  you  can  put  on  and  wear." 


36       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

He  held  out  to  the  boy  an  oblong  little  piece 
of  metal,  gold  plated. 

"It's  a  badge  such  as  'The  Blade '  reporters 
wear,  and  has  the  paper's  name  on  it,"  con- 
tinued the  editor.  "You  can  pin  it  on  your 
vest." 

"I  guess  I'd  better  leave  that  part  out  for 
a  while,"  laughed  Dick,  drawing  back.  "The 
fellows  at  school  wouldn't  do  a  thing  to  me  if 
they  caught  me  wearing  a  reporter's  badge." 

"Oh,  just  as  you  please  about  that,"  nodded 
Mr.  Pollock,  tossing  the  badge  back  into  the 
drawer.  "But  don't  forget  to  bring  us  in  some- 
thing good,  Prescott. ' ' 

"I  won't  forget,  Mr.  Pollock." 

As  Dick  went  down  the  street,  whistling 
blithely,  he  kept  his  hand  in  his  pocket  on  the 
half-dollar.  He  had  had  much  more  money  with 
him  a  little  while  before,  but  that  was  to  pay 
to  some  one  else.  This  half-dollar  was  wholly 
his  own  money,  and,  with  the  prospect  it  carried 
of  earning  more,  the  High  School  boy  was  de- 
lighted. Pocket  money  had  never  been  plentiful 
with  young  Prescott.  The  new  opportunity 
filled  him  with  jubilation. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  a  new 
thought  struck  him.  He  went  straight  to  his 
parents'  bookstore,  where  he  found  his  mother 
alone,  Mr.  Prescott  being  out  on  business. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       37 

To  his  mother  Dick  quickly  related  his  new 
good  fortune.  Mrs.  Prescott's  face  and  words 
both  expressed  her  pleasure. 

"At  first,  mother,  I  didn't  think  of  anything 
but  pocket  money, ' '  Dick  admitted.  ' '  Then  my 
head  got  to  work  a  bit.  It  has  struck  me  that 
if  I  can  make  a  little  money  each  week  by  writ- 
ing for  'The  Blade,'  I  can  pay  you  at  least  a 
bit  of  the  money  that  you  and  Dad  have  to  spend 
to  keep  me  going." 

"I  am  glad  you  thought  of  that,"  replied  Mrs. 
Prescott,  patting  her  boy's  hand.  "But  we 
shan't  look  to  you  to  do  anything  of  the  sort. 
Your  father  and  I  are  not  rich,  but  we  have 
managed  all  along  to  keep  you  going,  and  I 
think  we  can  do  it  for  a  while  longer.  What- 
ever money  you  can  earn,  Richard,  must  be 
your  own.  We  shall  take  none  of  it.  But  I 
trust  you  will  learn  how  to  handle  your  own 
money  wisely.  That  is  one  of  the  most  valuable 
lessons  to  be  learned  in  life." 

To  his  chums,  when  he  saw  them  later  in  the 
afternoon,  Dick  said  nothing  of  Mr.  Pollock's 
request.  The  young  soph  thought  it  better  to 
wait  a  while,  and  see  how  he  got  along  at  ama- 
teur reporting  before  he  let  anyone  else  into  the 
secret. 

But  late  that  afternoon  Dick  ran  into  a  matter 
of  interest  and  took  it  to  "The  Blade"  office. 


38       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"That's  all  right,"  nodded  Mr.  Pollock,  after 
looking  over  Dick's  "copy."  "Glad  to  see  you 
have  started  in,  my  boy.  Now,  I  won't  pay  you 
for  this  on  the  nail.  Wait  until  Saturday  morn- 
ing, cutting  all  that  you  have  printed  out  of  the 
'The  Blade.'  Paste  all  the  items  together,  end 
on  end,  and  bring  them  to  me.  That  is  what 
reporters  call  a  'space  string.'  Bring  your 
'string'  to  me  every  Saturday  afternoon.  We'll 
measure  it  up  with  you  and  settle." 

Dick  hurried  away,  content.  He  even  found 
that  evening  that  he  could  study  with  more  in- 
terest, now  that  he  found  he  had  a  financial 
place  in  life. 

In  the  morning  Gridley  read  and  laughed  over 
Dick's  item  about  the  High  School  hoax.  But 
there  was  one  man  who  saw  it  at  his  breakfast 
table,  and  who  went  into  a  white  heat  of  rage 
at  once.  That  man  was  Abner  Cantwell,  the 
principal. 

He  was  still  at  white  heat  when  he  started  for 
the  High  School;  though,  warned  by  prudence, 
he  tried  to  keep  his  temper  down.  Nevertheless, 
there  was  fire  in  Mr.  Cantwell 's  eyes  when  he 
rang  the  bell  to  bring  the  student  body  to  at- 
tention to  begin  the  morning's  work. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       39 
CHAPTER  HI 

MB.  CANTWELL  THINKS  TWICE — OB  OFTENEB 

M"\7"  OUNG  ladies  and  young  gentlemen,"  be- 
gan the  principal,  "a  very  silly  hoax 
was  perpetrated  on  me  yesterday.  I 
'do  not  believe  you  will  have  any  difficulty  in  un- 
derstanding what  I  mean.  But  the  matter  went 
beyond  this  school  room.  An  account  of  the 
hoax  was  published  in  the  morning  paper,  and 
that  holds  me  up  to  severe  ridicule.  I  trust  that 
we  shall  not  have  any  repetition  of  such  child- 
ish, so-called  jokes.  I  do  not  know  yet  what 
action  I  may  or  may  not  take  in  this  matter, 
and  can  promise  nothing.  I  can  and  do  promise, 
however,  that  if  any  more  such  hoaxes  are  at- 
tempted I  shall  do  all  in  my  power  to  ferret  out 

and  summarily  punish  the  offenders!    I '* 

Here  the  principal's  own  sense  of  prudence 
warned  him  that  he  had  gone  quite  as  far  ag 
was  necessary  or  prudent.  So  he  choked  down 
his  rising  words  and  called  for  the  morning 
singing.  Yet,  as  Mr.  Cantwell  uttered  his  last 
words  his  glance  fell  very  sternly  on  one  par- 
ticular young  member  of  the  sophomore  class — - 
Dick  Prescott. 

"Prin.  has  it  in  for  you,  old  fellow!"  whis- 


40       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

pered  Dave  Damn,  as  he  and  Dick  jostled  on 
the  way  to  a  recitation.  "But  if  he  has — 
humph — it  won't  be  long  before  he  finds  out 
that  you  had  some  help.  You  shan't  be  the 
scapegoat  for  all  of  Dick  &  Co." 

"Don't  say  anything,"  Dick  whispered  back. 
"I'll  find  a  way  to  take  care  of  myself.  If  any 
trouble  is  to  come,  I  think  I  can  take  care  of  it. 
Anyway,  I  won't  have  anyone  else  dragged 
into  it." 

But  the  principal  said  nothing  more  during 
that  school  session.  In  the  afternoon,  however, 
when  Mr.  Cantwell  took  his  accustomed  walk  af- 
ter dinner,  he  met  several  acquaintances  who 
made  laughing  or  casual  references  to  the  yarn 
in  the  morning's  "Blade." 

"I've  got  to  stamp  this  spirit  out  in  the 
school, ' '  decided  the  principal,  again  at  a  white 
heat.  "If  I  don't  I'll  soon  have  some  real 
trouble  on  hand  with  these  young  jackanapes! 
The  idea  of  their  making  me — the  principal — 
ridiculous  in  the  town !  No  school  principal  can 
submit  to  hoaxes  like  that  one  without  suffer- 
ing in  public  esteem.  I'll  sift  this  matter  down 
and  nip  the  whole  spirit  in  the  bud." 

In  this  Mr.  Cantwell  was  quite  possibly  at 
error  in  judgment.  Probably  the  High  School 
boys  wouldn't  have  played  such  a  prank  on 
good  old  Dr.  Thornton,  had  he  still  been  their 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       41 

school  chief.  But,  if  they  had,  Dr.  Thornton 
would  have  admitted  the  joke  good-humoredly 
and  would  have  taken  outside  chaffing  with  a 
good  nature  that  would  have  disarmed  all  wit 
aimed  at  him.  Mr.  Cantwell,  as  will  be  seen, 
lacked  the  saving  grace  of  a  sense  of  humor. 
He  also  lacked  ability  in  handling  full-blooded, 
fun-loving  boys. 

Wednesday,  just  before  one  o'clock,  the  prin- 
cipal electrified  the  assembled  students  by  say- 
ing, in  a  voice  that  was  ominously  quiet  and 
cool  : 

"When  school  is  dismissed  I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  Mr.  Prescott  remain  for  a  few  words  with 
me." 

"Now  it's  coming,"  thought  Dick,  though 
without  any  particular  thrill  of  dismay. 

He  waited  while  the  others  filed  out.  Some- 
how the  big  building  didn't  empty  as  fast  as 
usual.  Had  Mr.  Cantwell  known  more  about 
boy  nature  he  would  have  suspected  that  sev- 
eral of  Dick's  friends  had  remained  behind  in 
hiding  places  of  their  own  choosing. 

Dick  remained  in  his  seat,  coolly  turning  the 
pages  of  his  text-book  on  ancient  history. 

"Mr.  Prescott,"  called  the  principal  sharply. 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  Dick,  closing  the  book, 
slipping  it  into  his  desk,  and  rising  as  though 
to  go  forward. 


42       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"No,  no;  keep  your  seat  nntil  I  am  ready  to 
speak  with  you,  Mr.  Prescott.  But  it  isn't  neces- 
sary to  read,  is  it!" 

"I  was  looking  through  to-morrow's  history 
lesson,  sir,"  Dick  replied,  looking  extremely  in- 
nocent. "But,  of  course,  I  won't  if  you  disap- 
prove." 

"Wait  until  I  come  back,"  rapped  out  the 
principal,  leaving  the  room.  He  went  out  to 
see  that  the  building  was  being  emptied  of  stu- 
dents, but  of  course  he  failed  to  discover  that 
a  few  were  hiding  as  nearly  within  earshot  as 
they  could  get. 

Two  or  three  of  the  teachers  who  had  re- 
mained behind  now  left  the  room.  The  last 
to  go  was  Mr.  Drake,  the  submaster.  As  he 
went  he  cast  a  look  at  Dick  that  was  full  of 
sympathy,  though  the  submaster,  who  was  a 
very  decent  man  and  teacher,  did  not  by  any 
means  intend  to  foster  mutiny  in  the  heart  of 
a  High  School  boy.  But  Mr.  Drake  knew  that 
Mr.  Cantwell  was  not  fitted  either  to  command 
respect  or  to  enforce  discipline  in  the  High 
School. 

When  Mr.  Cantwell  came  back  he  and  the 
young  soph  had  the  great  room  to  themselves. 

"Now  you  may  come  forward,  Mr.  Prescott," 
announced  the  principal,  "and  stand  in  front 
of  the  platform." 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       43 

As  Dick  went  forward  there  was  nothing  of 
undue  confidence  or  any  notion  of  bravado  in 
his  bearing.  He  was  not  one  of  those  schoolboys 
who,  when  brought  to  task  by  authority,  try  to 
put  on  a  don't-care  look.  Dick's  glance,  as  he 
halted  before  the  platform  and  turned  to  look 
at  Mr.  Cantwell,  was  one  of  simple  inquiry. 

"Mr.  Prescott,  you  are  fully  informed  as  to 
the  hoax  that  was  perpetrated  on  me  yesterday 
morning?" 

"You  mean  the  incident  of  the  pennies,  1 
think,  sir?"  returned  the  boy,  inquiringly. 

"You  know  very  well  that  I  do,  young  man," 
retorted  Mr.  Cantwell,  rapping  his  desk  with 
one  hand. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  am  fully  informed  about  it." 

"And  you  know  who  was  at  the  bottom  of 
it,  too,  Mr.  Prescott?" 

The  principal  bent  upon  the  boy  a  look  that 
was  meant  to  make  him  quail,  but  Dick  didn't 
quail. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  admitted,  promptly.  "I  know 
at  least  several  that  had  a  hand  in  the  affair." 

"And  you  were  one  of  them?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  admitted  the  young  soph,  frankly. 
"I  think  I  had  as  much  to  do  with  what  you 
term  the  hoax,  sir,  as  anyone  else  had." 

"Who  were  the  others?"  fired  the  principal, 
quickly  and  sharply. 


44       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  cannot  answer 
that," 

"You  can't?  Why  not,  Mr.  Prescott?"  de- 
manded the  principal. 

Again  the  principal  launched  his  most  com- 
pelling look. 

"Because,  sir,"  answered  Dick,  quietly,  and 
in  a  tone  in  which  no  sign  of  disrespect  could 
be  detected,  "it  would  strike  me  as  being  dis- 
honorable to  drag  others  into  this  affair." 

"You  would  consider  it  dishonorable?"  cried 
Mr.  Cantwell,  his  face  again  turning  deathly 
white  with  inward  rage.  "You,  who  admit  hav- 
ving  had  a  big  hand  in  what  was  really  an  out- 
rage?" 

But  Dick  met  and  returned  the  other's  gaze 
composedly. 

"The  Board  of  Education,  Mr.  Cantwell,  has 
several  times  decided  that  one  pupil  in  the  pub- 
lic schools  cannot  be  compelled  by  a  teacher  to 
bear  tales  that  implicate  another  student.  I 
have  admitted  my  own  share  in  the  joke  that  has 
so  much  displeased  you,  but  I  cannot  name  any 
others. ' ' 

"You  must!"  insisted  the  principal,  rising 
swiftly  from  his  chair. 

"I  regret  to  have  to  say,  sir,"  responded 
Prescott,  quietly,  "that  I  shall  not  do  it.  If 
you  make  it  necessary,  I  shall  have  to  take  ref- 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       45 

uge  behind  the  rulings  of  the  Board  of  Educa- 
tion on  that  point." 

Mr.  Cantwell  glared  at  Dick,  but  the  latter 
still  met  the  gaze  unflinchingly. 

Then  the  principal  began  to  feel  his  wrath  ris- 
ing to  such  a  point  that  he  found  himself 
threatened  with  an  angry  outburst.  As  his  tem- 
per had  often  betrayed  him  before  in  life,  Mr. 
Cantwell,  pointing  angrily  to  Dick 's  place,  said : 

"Back  to  your  seat,  Mr.  Prescott,  until  I  have 
given  this  matter  a  little  more  thought!" 

Immediately  afterward  the  principal  quitted 
the  room.  Dick,  after  sitting  in  silence  for  a 
few  moments,  drew  his  history  again  from  his 
desk,  turned  over  the  pages,  found  the  place  he 
wanted  and  began  to  read. 

It  was  ten  minutes  later  when  the  principal 
returned  to  the  room.  He  had  been  to  one  of 
the  class  rooms,  where  he  had  paced  up  and 
down  until  he  felt  that  he  could  control  himself 
enough  to  utter  a  few  words.  Now,  he  came 
back. 

"Prescott,  I  shall  have  to  think  over  your  ad- 
mission before  I  come  to  any  decision  in  the  mat- 
ter. I  may  not  be  able  to  announce  my  decision 
for  a  while.  I  shall  give  it  most  careful  thought. 
In  the  meantime,  I  trust,  very  sincerely,  that 
you  will  not  be  caught  in  any  more  mischief — 
least  of  all,  anything  as  serious,  as  revolution- 


46       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

ary,  as  yesterday's  outrageous  impudence. 
You  may  go,  now — for  to-day!" 

"Very  good,  sir,"  replied  Dick  Prescott,  who 
had  risen  at  his  desk  as  soon  as  Mr.  Cantwell 
began  to  talk  to  him.  As  young  Prescott 
passed  from  the  room  he  favored  the  principal 
with  a  decorous  little  how. 

Dave  Darrin,  Tom  Eeade,  Greg  Holmes,  Har- 
per and  another  memher  of  the  freshman  class, 
came  out  of  various  places  of  hiding.  As  he 
went  down  the  stairs  Dick  was  obliged  to  tread 
heavily  enough  to  drown  out  their  more  stealthy 
footfalls. 

Once  in  the  open,  Harper  and  the  other  fresh- 
man scurried  away,  their  curiosity  satisfied. 
But,  a  moment  later,  when  Mr.  Cantwell  looked 
out  of  the  window,  he  was  much  surprised  to  see 
four  members  of  Dick  &  Co.  walking  together, 
and  almost  out  through  the  gate. 

"Have  they  been  within  earshot — listening1?" 
wondered  the  principal  to  himself,  and  jotted 
down  the  names  of  Darrin,  Reade  and  Holmes. 
The  two  freshmen,  by  their  prompt  departure 
had  saved  themselves  from  suspicion. 

On  Thursday  nothing  was  said  or  done  about 
Dick's  case.  When  Friday's  session  drew  to- 
ward its  close  young  Prescott  fully  expected  to 
have  sentence  pronounced,  or  at  least  to  be 
directed  to  remain  after  school.  But  nothing  of 


"THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       47 

the  sort  happened.  Dick  filed  out  at  the  week's 
end  with  the  rest. 

"What  do  you  imagine  Prin.  can  be  up  to T" 
Dave  Darrin  asked,  as  Dick  &  Co.  marched 
homeward  that  early  Friday  afternoon. 

"I  don't  know,"  Dick  confessed.  "It  may 
be  that  Mr.  Cantwell  is  just  trying  to  keep  me 
guessing. ' ' 

"If  that's  his  plan,"  inquired  Eeade,  "what 
are  you  going  to  do,  old  fellow?" 

"Perhaps — just  possibly — I  shall  fight  back 
with  the  same  weapon,"  smiled  Dick. 

Mr.  Cantwell  had,  in  truth,  formed  his  plan, 
or  as  much  of  it  as  he  could  form  until  he  had 
found  just  how  the  land  lay,  and  what  would 
be  safe.  His  present  berth,  as  principal  of  Grid- 
ley  H.  S.,  was  a  much  better  one  than  he  had 
ever  occupied  before.  Mr.  Cantwell  cherished 
a  hope  of  being  able  to  keep  the  position  for  a 
good  many  years  to  come.  Yet  this  would  de- 
pend on  the  attitude  of  the  Board  of  Education. 
In  order  not  to  take  any  step  that  would  bring 
censure  from  the  Board,  Mr.  Cantwell  had  de- 
cided to  attend  the  Board's  next  meeting  on  the 
following  Monday  evening,  and  lay  the  matter 
before  the  members  confidentially.  If  the 
Board  so  advised,  Mr.  Cantwell  was  personally 
quite  satisfied  with  the  idea  of  disciplining  Dick 
by  dropping  him  from  the  High  School  rolls. 


"I'll  protect  my  dignity,  at  any  cost,"  Mr. 
Cantwell,  murmured,  eagerly  to  himself. 
"After  all,  what  is  a  High  School  principal, 
without  dignity?" 

Monday  afternoon  Dick  Prescott  stepped  in 
at  "The  Blade"  office. 

"Got  something  for  us  again?"  asked  Mr. 
Pollock,  looking  around. 

"Not  quite  yet,"  Dick  replied.  "Pve  come 
to  make  a  suggestion." 

"Prescott,  suggestions  are  the  food  of  a  news- 
paper editor.  Go  ahead." 

"You  don't  send  a  reporter  to  report  the 
Board  of  Education  meetings,  do  you?" 

"No;  those  meetings  are  rarely  newsy  enough 
to  be  worth  while.  I  can't  afford  to  take  up  the 
evening  of  a  salaried  reporter  in  that  way.  But 
Spencer  generally  drops  around,  at  the  time  the 
Board  is  expected  to  adjourn,  or  else  he  tele- 
phones the  clerk,  from  this  office,  and  learns 
what  has  been  done.  It's  mostly  nothing,  you 
know." 

"Spencer  wouldn't  care  if  he  didn't  have  to 
report  the  Board  meetings  at  all?" 

"Of  course  not.  Leu  would  be  delighted  at 
not  having  anything  more  to  do." 

"Then  let  me  go  and  report  the  meetings  for 
you,  on  space." 

"My  boy,  a  reporter  would  starve  on  that 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       49 

kind  of  space  work.  Why,  after  you  put  in  the 
whole  evening  there,  you  might  come  to  the 
office  only  to  learn  that  we  didn't  consider  any 
of  the  Board's  doings  worth  space  to  tell  about 
them." 

1 '  Will  you  let  me  attend  a  few  of  the  meetings, 
and  take  my  chances  on  the  amount  of  space  I 
can  get  out  of  it?" 

"Go  ahead,  Prescott,  if  you  can  afford  to 
waste  your  time  in  that  fashion,"  replied  Mr. 
Pollock,  almost  pityingly. 

" Thank  you.  That's  what  I  wanted," 
acknowledged  Dick,  and  went  out  very  well  con- 
tented. 

When  it  lacked  a  few  minutes  of  eight,  that 
evening,  all  the  members  of  the  Board  of  Edu- 
cation had  arrived.  It  was  the  same  Board  as 
in  the  year  before.  All  the  members  had  been 
re-elected  at  the  last  city  election,  though  some 
of  them  by  small  majorities.  Mr.  Gadsby,  one 
of  the  members  who  had  won  by  only  a  slight 
margin  over  his  opponent,  stood  with  his  back 
to  a  radiator,  warming  himself,  when  he  saw 
the  door  open. 

Mr.  Gadsby  nodded  most  genially  to  Mr.  Cant- 
well,  who  entered.  The  principal  came  straight 
over  to  this  member,  and  they  shook  hands  cor- 
dially. Mr.  Gadsby  had  been  one  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Board  who  had  been  most  anxious 

4 — The  High  School  Pitcher. 


50       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

about  having  Cantwell  appointed  principal; 
Cantwell  was,  in  fact,  a  family  connection  of 
Mrs.  Gadsby 's. 

"Coming  to  make  some  report,  or  some  sug- 
gestion, I  take  it,  en,  Cantwell  ? ' '  murmured  Mr. 
Gadsby  in  a  low  voice.  "Most  excellent  idea, 
my  dear  fellow.  Keeps  you  in  notice  and  shows 
that  your  heart  is  in  the  work.  Most  excellent 
idea,  really." 

"I  have  a  report  to  make,"  admitted  Mr. 
Cantwell,  in  an  equally  low  voice.  "I — I — find 
it  necessary  to  make  a  statement  about  the 
doings  of  a  rather  troublesome  element  in  the 
school.  Suspension  or  expulsion  may  be  neces- 
sary in  order  to  give  the  best  ideas  of  good 
discipline  to  many  of  the  other  students.  But 
I  shall  state  the  facts,  and  ask  the  Board  to 
advise  me  as  to  just  what  I  ought  to  do  in  the 
premises." 

"Ask  the  Board's  advice?  Most  excellent 
idea,  really,"  murmured  Mr.  Gadsby.  "You 
can't  go  wrong  then.  But — er — what's  the 
nature  of  the  trouble?  Who  is  the  off  en " 

Mr.  Gadsby  was  rubbing  his  hands,  under  his 
coat  tails,  as  he  felt  the  warmth  from  the  steam 
radiator  reach  them. 

"Why,  the  principal  offender  is  named " 

Here  Mr.  Cantwell  paused,  and  looked  rather 
astonished. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       51 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Gadsby,  what  is  Prescott,  of  the 
sophomore  class,  doing  here?" 

The  principal's  glance  had  just  rested  on 
Dick,  who  sat  at  a  small  side  table,  a  little  pile 
of  copy  paper  on  the  table,  a  pencil  in  his  hand. 

"Oh— ah— Prescott,  Richard  Prescottf"  in- 
quired Mr.  Gadsby.  "Some  of  us  were  a  bit 
surprised  this  evening  to  learn  that  Prescott, 
though  he  will  continue  to  attend  High  School, 
has  also  taken  a  position  with  'The  Morning 
Blade.'  Among  other  things  to  which  he  will 
attend,  after  this,  Cantwell,  is  the  matter  of 
school  doings  in  this  city.  He  is  to  be  the  regu- 
lar reporter  of  School  Board  meetings.  Rather 
a  young  man  to  wield  the  power  of  the  press 
isn't  he?"  Mr.  Gladsby  chuckled  at  his  own 
joke. 

' '  'Power  of  the  press '  ? "  murmured  Mr.  Cant- 
well,  uncomfortably.  "Surely  you  don't  mean, 
Gadsby,  that  this  mere  boy,  this  High  School 
student,  is  going  to  be  taken  here  seriously  as 
representing  the  undoubtedly  great  power  of 
the  press?" 

"To  some  extent,  yes,"  admitted  Mr.  Gadsby. 
"  'The  Blade,'  as  you  may  know,  is  a  good  deal 
of  a  power  in  local  politics.  Now,  some  of  us — • 
er — did  not  win  our  re-elections  by  any  too  large 
margins.  A  little  dangerous  opposition  to — er 
— some  of  us — would  mean  a  few  new  faces 


around  the  table  at  Board  meetings.  Mr.  Pol- 
lock is — er — a  most  estimable  citizen,  and  a 
useful  man  in  the  community.  Yet  Mr.  Pollock 
is — er — Cantwell — er — that  is,  a  bit  l touchy.' 
No  matter  if  Pollock 's  reporter  is  a  schoolboy, 
if  we  treated  the  boy  with  any  lack  of  consider- 
ation, then  Pollock  would  most  certainly  take 
umbrage  at  what  he  would  choose  to  consider 
a  slight  upon  himself,  received  through  his  rep- 
resentative. So  at  these  Board  meetings,  young 
Prescott  will  have  to  be  treated  with  as  much 
courtesy  as  though  he  were  really  a  man,  for 
Pollock's  hostility  would  be  most  disastrous  to 
us — er — to  some  of  us,  possibly,  I  mean.  But, 
really,  young  Prescott  is  a  most  bright  and  en- 
terprising young  fellow,  anyway — a  very  lik- 
able boy.  You  like  him,  don't  you,  Cantwell!" 

"Ye-e-es,"  admitted  the  principal,  though  he 
added  grimly  under  his  breath : 

"I  like  him  so  well  that  I  could  eat  him,  right 
now,  if  I  had  a  little  Worcestershire  sauce  to 
make  him  more  palatable." 

1 1  The  Board  will  please  come  to  order, ' '  sum- 
moned Chairman  Stone,  rapping  the  table  with 
his  gavel.  "Mr.  Reporter,  have  you  good  light 
over  at  your  table." 

"Excellent,  thank  you,  Mr.  Chairman,"  Dick 
replied. 

"Er — aren't  you  going  to  stay,  Cantwell?" 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       53 

demanded  Gadsby,  as  the  principal  turned  to 
leave  the  room. 

"No;  the  fact  is  — I — well,  I  want  to  consider 
my  statement  a  little  more  before  I  offer  it  to 
the  Board.  Good  evening!" 

Mr.  Cantwell  got  out  of  the  room  while  some 
of  the  members  were  still  scraping  their  chairs 
into  place. 

Dick  Prescott  had  not  openly  looked  in  the 
principal 's  direction.  Yet  the  amateur  reporter 
had  taken  it  all  in.  He  was  grinning  inside  now. 
He  had  taken  upon  himself  the  work  of  report- 
ing these  meetings  that  he  might  be  in  a  position 
to  block  any  unfair  move  on  the  part  of  the 
principal. 

"I  wonder  what  Mr.  Cantwell  is  thinking 
about,  now?"  Dick  asked  himself,  with  an  in- 
ward grin  as  he  picked  up  his  pencil. 

That  Board  meeting  was  about  as  dull  and 
uneventful  as  the  average.  Yet  Dick  managed 
to  make  a  few  live  paragraphs  out  of  it  that 
Guilford,  "The  Blade's"  news  editor,  accepted. 

It  still  lacked  some  minutes  of  ten  o'clock 
when  young  Prescott  left  the  morning  news- 
paper office  and  started  briskly  homeward. 

"I  didn't  catch  that  Board-reporting  idea  a 
day  too  soon,"  the  boy  told  himself,  laughing. 
"Mr.  Cantwell  was  certainly  on  hand  for  mis- 
chief to-night.  But  how  quickly  he  made  his 


54       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

get-away  when  he  discovered  that  his  culprit 
was  present  as  a  member  of  the  press!  I  guess 
Mr.  Gadsby  must  have  passed  him  a  strong  hint. 
But  I  must  be  careful  not  to  have  any  malice  in 
the  matter.  Some  evening  when  Mr.  Cantwell 
does  come  before  the  Board  with  some  report  I 
must  take  pains  to  give  him  and  his  report  a 
nice  little  notice  and  ask  'The  Blade*  folks  to 
be  sure  to  print  it.  Then — gracious !" 

Utterly  startled,  Dick  heard  and  saw  an  ugly 
brickbat  whizz  by  his  head.  It  came  out  of  the 
dark  alley  that  the  sophomore  was  passing  at 
that  moment.  And  now  came  another,  aimed 
straight  for  his  head! 


CHAPTER  IV 

DAVE   WABNS   TIP  SCAMMON 


^T^HERE  wasn't  time  to  jump  out  of  the 
way  of  that  second  flying  missile. 

By  an  instinct  of  self-preservation 

young  Prescott,  instead  of  trying  to  leap  out 

of  the  way,  just  collapsed,  going  down  to  his 

knees. 
As  he  sank  the  missile  struck  the  top  of  his 

cap,  carrying  it  from  his  head. 
"Hi!    Stop  that,  you  blamed  rascal  !" 
It  was  Dave  Damn's  voice  that  rang  out,  aa 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       55 

that  young  man  came  rushing  down  the  street 
behind  Prescott. 

Dick  in  another  second  was  on  his  feet, 
crouching  low,  and  running  full  tilt  into  the 
alleyway. 

It  was  Dick's  way — to  run  at  danger,  instead 
of  away  from  it. 

At  his  first  bound  into  the  alley,  Prescott 
dimly  made  out  some  fellow  running  at  the 
further  end. 

There  was  an  outlet  of  escape  down  there — 
two  of  them,  in  fact,  as  the  indignant  pursuer 
knew.  So  he  put  on  speed,  but  soon  was  obliged 
to  halt,  finding  that  his  unknown  enemy  had  got- 
ten away. 

Here  Dick  was  joined  by  breathless  Dave  Dar- 
rin,  who  had  followed  swiftly. 

"You  go  through  there,  Dave;  I'll  take  the 
other  way,"  urged  Dick,  again  starting  in  pur- 
suit. 

The  unknown  one,  however,  had  taken  ad- 
vantage of  those  few  seconds  of  delay  to  get 
safely  beyond  chase.  So  the  chums  met,  soon, 
in  a  side  street. 

"His  line  of  retreat  was  good,"  muttered 
Dick,  rather  disgustedly. 

"Who  was  it,  anyway?"  Dave  indignantly; 
inquired. 

"I  don't  know.    I  didn't  see/* 


56       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"Do  you  suppose  it  could  have  been  Tip 
Scammonf  "  asked  Dave,  shrewdly. 

"Is  Tip  Scammon  back  from  the  peniten- 
tiary?" 

' '  Got  back  this  afternoon,  and  has  been  show- 
ing himself  around  town  this  evening, ' '  nodded 
Dave.  "Say,  I  wonder  if  he  could  have  been 
the  one  who  ambushed  you!" 

"I  don't  like  to  throw  suspicion  on  anyone,'* 
Dick  replied.  "Still,  I  can't  imagine  anyone 
else  who  would  have  as  much  temptation  to  try 
to  lay  me  up.  Tip  Scammon  acted  as  Fred  Bip- 
ley's  tool,  last  year,  in  trying  to  make  me  out 
a  High  School  thief.  Tip  was  sent  away,  and 
Fred  didn't  have  to  suffer  at  all,  because  Tip 
wouldn't  betray  his  employer.  But  Tip  must 
have  felt  sore  at  me  many  a  time  when  he  was 
breaking  rock  at  the  penitentiary." 

The  two  chums  walked  slowly  back  to  Main 
Street,  still  talking. 

"I  saw  you  ahead  of  me,  on  the  street,"  Dave 
rattled  on.  "I  was  trying  to  overtake  you, 
without  calling,  when  that  thing  came  whizzing 
by  your  head.  Say,  Dick,  I  wonder " 

"What?"  demanded  Prescott. 

"Oh,  of  course,  it's  a  crazy  notion.  But  I 
was  wondering  if  Mr.  Cantwell  could  have  it 
in  for  you  so  hard  that  he'd  put  anyone  up  to 
lying  in  ambush  for  you." 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       57 

Dick  started,  then  thought  a  few  moments. 
"No,"  he  decided.  "Cantwell  may  be  erratic, 
and  he  certainly  has  a  treacherous  temper,  and 
some  mean  ways.  But  this  was  hardly  the  sort 
of  trick  he'd  go  in  for." 

"Then  it  was  Tip  Scammon,  all  by  himself," 
declared  Darrin,  with  great  conviction. 

"But  to  go  back  to  Mr.  Cantwell,"  Dick  re- 
sumed, with  a  grin,  "I  must  tell  you  something 
really  funny.  Prin.  went  to  School  Board  to- 
night with  a  long,  bright  knife  sharpened  for 
me.  But  he  didn't  do  a  thing." 

Then  Prescott  confessed  to  being  a  "Blade" 
representative,  and  told  of  the  principal's  visit 
to  the  Board,  and  of  his  hurried  departure. 

Dave  laughed  heartily,  though  what  seemed 
to  amaze  him  most  of  all  was  that  Dick  had 
found  a  chance  to  write  for  pay. 

"Of  course  you  can  do  it,  Dick,"  continued 
his  loyal  friend,  "but  I  never  thought  that  any- 
one as  young  as  you  ever  got  the  chance." 

"It  came  my  way,"  Dick  went  on,  "and  I'm 
mighty  glad  it  did.  So " 

"Wow!"  muttered  Dave,  suddenly,  then 
started  off  at  a  sprint,  as  he  muttered: 

"Here's  Tip  Scammon  now!" 

Both  boys  moved  along  on  a  hot  run.  Tip 
was  walking  slowly  along  Main  Street,  giving 
a  very  good  imitation  of  one  unconcerned. 


58       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

He  turned  when  he  heard  the  running  feet 
behind  him,  however.  His  first  impulse  seemed 
to  be  to  take  to  his  heels.  But  the  young  jail- 
bird quickly  changed  his  mind,  and  turned  to 
face  them,  an  inquisitive  look  on  his  hard,  cun- 
ning face. 

' '  Good  evenin ',  fellers.  Where 's  the  fire  1 "  he 
hailed. 

"In  my  eyes!  See  it!"  demanded  Dave  Dar- 
rin.  His  dark  eyes  certainly  were  flashing  as 
he  reached  out  and  seized  Tip  by  one  shoulder. 

"Now  don't  ye  git  festive  with  me!"  warned 
Tip. 

"Oh,  we  don't  feel  ready  for  anything  more 
festive  than  a  lynching  party, ' '  muttered  Dave, 
hotly.  "See  here,  you " 

"I  s'pose  ye  think  ye  can  do  all  ye  wanter  to 
me,  jest  because  I've  been  doin'  my  stretch?" 
demanded  Tip,  aggressively.  "But  don't  be  too 
sure.  Take  yer  hand  off  en  my  shoulder!" 

Dave  didn't  show  any  sign  of  immediate  in- 
tention of  complying. 

"Take  it  off  I"  insisted  Tip. 

But  Dave  met  the  fellow's  baleful  gaze  with 
a  cool,  steady  look.  Tip,  muttering  something, 
edged  away  from  under  Dave's  extended  hand. 

"Now,  ye  wanter  understand,"  continued 
young  Scammon,  "that  I  can't  be  played  with, 
jest  because  some  folks  think  I'm  down.  If 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       59 

you  come  fooling  around  me  you'll  have  to  ex- 
plain or  apologize." 

"Tip,"  questioned  Dave  Darrin,  sharply, 
"why  did  you  just  throw  two  brickbats  at  Diek 
Prescott 's  head!" 

"I  didn't,"  retorted  Tip,  stolidly. 

"You  did." 

"I  didn't." 

"Tip,"  declared  Dave,  solemnly,  "I  won't 
call  you  a  liar.  I'll  just  remark  that  you  and 
truth  are  strangers." 

"I  ain't  interested  in  what  you  fellers  got 
to  say,"  flared  Tip,  sullenly.  "And  I  don't 
like  your  company,  neither.  So  jest  skate 
along. ' ' 

"We're  not  going  to  linger  with  you,  Tip, 
any  longer  than  seems  absolutely  necessary," 
promised  Dave,  coolly.  "But  what  I  want  to 
say  is  this :  If  you  make  any  more  attempts  to 
do  Dick  Prescott  any  harm  our  crowd  will  get 
you,  no  matter  how  far  we  have  to  go  to  find 
you.  Is  that  clear?" 

"I  s'pose  it  is,  if  you  say  so,"  sneered  young 
Scammon. 

"We'll  get  you,"  pursued  Dave,  "and  we'll 
turn  you  over  to  the  authorities.  One  citizen 
like  Dick  Prescott  is  worth  more  than  a  million 
of  your  stamp.  If  we  find  you  up  to  any  more 
tricks  against  Dick  Prescott,  or  against  any  of 


60       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHEE 

us,  for  that  matter,  we'll  soon  have  you  doing 
your  second  'stretch,'  as  you  have  learned  to 
call  a  term  at  the  penitentiary.  Tip,  your  best 
card  will  be  to  turn  over  a  very  new  leaf,  and 
find  an  honest  job.  Just  because  you've  been 
in  jail  once  don't  go  along  with  the  notion  that 
it's  the  only  place  where  you  can  find  your  kind 
of  company.  But  whatever  you  do,  steer  clear 
of  Dick  Prescott  and  his  chums.  I  think  you 
understand  that.  Now,  go!" 

Tip  tried  to  brazen  it  out,  but  there  was  a 
compelling  quality  in  the  clear,  steady  gaze  of 
Dave  Darrin's  dark  eyes.  After  a  moment  Tip 
Scammon  let  his  own  gaze  drop.  He  turned  and 
shuffled  away. 

"Poor  fellow!"  muttered  Dick. 

* '  Yes,  with  all  my  heart, ' '  agreed  Dave.  ' '  But 
the  fellow  doesn't  want  to  get  any  notion  that 
he  can  go  about  terrorizing  folks  in  Gridley!" 


SCAMMON,  however,  knew  one  person  in 
Gridley  whom  he  thought  he  could  ter- 
rorize.   He  started  in  promptly  to  do  it. 
At  three  the  next  afternoon  young  Scammon 
loitered  under  a  big,  bare  oak  on  one  of  the 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       61 

winding,  little-traveled  streets  that  led  from 
Gridley  out  into  the  open  country  beyond. 

In  summer  it  was  a  favorite  thoroughfare,  es- 
pecially for  young  engaged  couples  who  wanted 
to  loiter  along  the  road,  chatting  and  picking 
wild  flowers. 

In  winter,  however,  the  place  was  usually 
deserted,  being  more  than  a  mile  out  of  the 
city. 

As  Tip  lingered  he  caught  sight  of  haughty 
Fred  Ripley  coming  down  the  road  at  a  fast 
walk.  Fred  looked  both  angry  and  worried. 
Tip,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  young 
fellow  who  imagined  himself  an  "aristocrat," 
began  to  grin  in  his  evil  way. 

A  dull,  sullen,  red  fired  Fred's  cheeks  when 
he  caught  sight  of  the  one  who  was  waiting  for 
him. 

"Ye 're  most  nearly  on  time,"  Tip  informed 
the  other. 

"See  here,  Scammon,  what  in  blazes  did  you 
mean  by  sending  me  a  note  like  the  one  I  got 
from  you?"  demanded  Fred 

Tip  only  grinned. 

"What  did  you  mean,  fellow?"  Ripley  in- 
sisted angrily. 

"I  meant  to  get  ye  here,  to  let  ye  know  what 
I  had  to  say  to  ye, ' '  Scammon  retorted. 

"Why,  confound  you,  fellow" — Fred  began, 


62       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

stuttering  a  bit,  but  the  other  cut  in  on  him  in 
short  fashion. 

"None  o*  that  to  me,  now,  Fred  Eipley. 
D'ye  hear?  Me  an*  you  used  to  be  pretty  good 
pals,  once  on  a  time." 

At  this  charge,  Fred  winced  very  plainly. 

"And  maybe  we'll  be  pals,  now,  too,"  Tip 
pursued,  with  the  air  of  one  who  believed  him- 
self to  be  able  to  dictate  terms.  "That  is,  for 
your  sake,  I  hope  we  are,  Eipley." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  What  do  you 
want  to  see  me  about?  Come  to  the  point  in 
mighty  few  words,"  Ripley  commanded,  impa- 
tiently. 

"Well,  now,  first-off,  last  year,  before  I  went 
away  for  my  health" — Tip  grinned  in  ghastly 
fashion — "ye  hired  me  to  do  a  certain  job  for 
ye.  Eight,  so  far,  ain't  I?" 

"Possibly,"  assented  Fred,  coldly. 

"Ye  hired  me  to  get  hold  of  keys  that  could 
be  used  on  one  o'  the  High  School  locker 
rooms, ' '  Tip  went  on,  cunningly.  ' '  Ye  hired  me 
to  steal  some  stuff  from  the  coats  o'  the  young 
gents  that  study  there.  Then  ye  hired  me  to 
break  inter  Dick  Prescott's  room  and  get  the 
loot  inter  his  trunk.  Eight,  ain't  I?" 

Tip  spoke  assertively,  making  no  effort  to 
keep  his  voice  low. 

"For  goodness'  sake  don't  shout  it  all  over 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       63 

four  counties,"  protested  Fred  Eipley,  glanc- 
ing apprehensively  about  him.  His  face  was 
paler,  now,  from  uneasiness. 

"Oh,  I  ain't  afraid  about  anyone  hearing 
me, ' '  Tip  went  on,  unconcernedly.  ' '  D  'ye  know 
why,  Fred,  my  boy?  Because  I  done  my  stretch 
for  the  trick,  and  there  ain't  nuthin'  more 
comin'  to  me  on  that  score.  If  you're  'fraid, 
jest  go  an'  do  yer  stretch,  like  I  did,  an'  then 
ye  won't  care  who  hears  or  knows !" 

Tip  laughed  cunningly.  Fred's  face  dark- 
ened. He  squirmed,  yet  found  himself  afraid  to 
show  anger. 

"So  I  dropped  ye  that  note,  tellin'  ye  to  come 
here  at  three  this  aft 'noon,"  Scammon  contin- 
ued. ' '  I  told  ye  I  hoped  ye  'd  find  it  convenient 
to  come,  an'  hinted  that  if  ye  didn't,  ye  might 
wish  later,  that  ye  had." 

"I'm  here,"  retorted  the  Eipley  heir.  "Now, 
what  do  you  want  to  say  to  me?" 

"I'm  broke,"  Tip  informed  Eipley,  plain- 
tively. "Stony!  Understand?  I  hain't  got 
no  money." 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  furnish  you  with 
any?"  demanded  Fred,  his  eyes  opening  wide 
in  astonishment.  "I  paid  you,  in  full,  last 
year. ' ' 

"Ye  didn't  pay  me  fer  the  stretch  I  done,  did 
ye?"  demanded  Tip,  insolently.  "How  much 


64       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

did  ye  pay  me  for  keeping  my  month  closed,  so 
you  wouldn't  have  to  do  your  stretch?" 

Fred  winced  painfully  under  that  steady,  half- 
ugly  glance  of  the  other. 

"And  now,'*  continued  Scammon,  in  a 
half -hurt  way,  "ye  think  it's  hard  if  I  tell  ye 
that  I  want  a  few  dollars  to  keep  food  in  my 
insides." 

"You've  got  your  father,"  hinted  Fred. 

"Sure,  I  have,"  Tip  assented.  "But  it's 
mighty  little  he  '11  do  for  me  until  I  get  a  job  and 
settle  down  to  it." 

"Well,  why  don't  you?"  asked  Fred  Ripley. 
"That's  the  surest  way  to  get  straight  with  the 
world." 

"When  I  want  advice,"  sneered  Scammon, 
"I  won't  tramp  all  the  way  out  here,  an'  ask 
you  for  it.  Nope.  I  don't  want  advice.  What 
I  want  is  money." 

"Oh,  well,  Tip,  I'm  sorry  for  you  and  your 
troubles.  Here's  a  dollar  for  you.  I  wish  I 
could  make  it  more." 

Fred  Eipley  drew  out  the  greenback,  passing 
it  over.  Tip  took  the  money,  studying  it  curi- 
ously. 

"Ye 're  sorry  just  a  dollar's  worth — is  that 
it?  Well,  old  pal,  ye '11  have  to  be  more  sorry 'n 
that.  I'll  let  ye  off  fer  ten  dollars,  but  hand  it 
over  quick!" 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       65 

Fred's  first  impulse  was  to  get  angry,  but  it 
didn't  take  Mm  more  than  an  instant  to  realize 
that  it  would  be  better  to  keep  this  fellow  quiet. 

"I  haven't  ten  dollars,  Tip — on  my  honor," 
he  protested,  hesitatingly. 

"On  yer — what?"  questioned  Scammon,  with 
utter  scorn. 

"I  haven't  ten  dollars." 

"How  much  have  ye?" 

There  was  something  in  Tip's  ugly  eyes  that 
scared  the  boy.  Fred  went  quickly  through  his 
pockets,  producing,  finally,  six  dollars  and  a 
half. 

"I'll  give  you  six  of  this,  Tip,"  proposed 
Fred,  rather  miserably. 

"Ye '11  give  me  all  of  it,  ye  mean,"  responded 
Scammon.  "And  ye '11  meet  me  to-morrow  aft*- 
noon  with  five  more — something  for  interest,  ye 
know." 

"But  I  won't  have  five  dollars  again,  as  soon 
as  that,"  argued  Fred,  weakly. 

"Yes,  you  will,"  leered  Tip.  "You'll  have 
to!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Fred,  try- 
ing to  bluster,  but  making  a  failure  of  the  at- 
tempt 

"It'll  take  five  more  to  give  me  lock-jaw," 
declared  Scammon.  "I'm  jest  out  of  prison, 
and  I  mean  to  enjoy  myself  restin'  a  few  days 

3—  The  High  School  Pitcher. 


66       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

before  I  settle  down  to  a  job  again.  So,  to-mor- 
row, turn  up  with  the  five!" 

"I  don't  know  where  to  get  the  money." 

"Find  out,  then,"  sneered  the  other.  "/ 
don't  care  where  you  get  it,  but  you've  got  to 
get  it  and  hand  it  over  to  me  to-morrow,  or  it'll 
be  too  late,  an'  Gridley'll  be  too  hot  a  place  for 
ye!" 

"I'll  try,"  agreed  Kipley,  weakly. 

"Ye '11  do  more'n  try,  'cause  if  ye  fail  me 
ye '11  have  no  further  show,"  declared  Tip,  with 
emphasis. 

"See,  here,  Scammon,  if  I  can  find  another 
five — somehow — that'll  be  the  last  of  this  busi- 
ness ?  You  won't  expect  to  get  any  more  money 
out  of  me?" 

"The  five  that  you're  goin'  to  bring  me  to- 
morrow will  be  in  full  payment." 

"Of  all  possible  claims  to  date?"  Fred  in- 
sisted. 

"Yes,  in  full — to  date,"  agreed  Scammon, 
grinning  as  though  he  were  enjoying  himself. 

"And  there'll  never  be  any  further  de- 
mands?" questioned  Fred. 

"Never  again!"  Scammon  asserted,  with  em- 
phasis. 

"You  promise  that,  solemnly?" 

"On  my  honor,"  promised  the  jailbird,  sar- 
donically. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       67 

"I'll  try  to  get  you  the  money,  Tip.  But  see 
here,  I'll  be  in  front  of  the  drug  store  next  to 
the  post  office,  at  just  three  o'clock  to-morrow 
afternoon.  You  stop  and  look  in  the  same  win- 
dow, but  don't  speak  to  me.  If  I  can  get  the 
five  I'll  slip  it  into  your  hand.  Then  I'll  move 
away.  You  stand  looking  in  the  window  a  min- 
ute  or  so  after  I  leave  you,  will  you?" 

"Sure,"  agreed  Scammon,  cheerfully. 

"And  don't  do  anything  so  plainly  that  any 
passerby  can  detect  the  fact  that  you  and  I  are 
meeting  there.  Don't  let  anyone  see  what  I 
slip  into  your  hand." 

"That'll  be  all  right,"  declared  Tip  Scam- 
mon, readily  enough. 

"And  mind  you,  that's  the  last  money  you're 
ever  to  ask  me  for." 

"That'll  be  all  right,  too,"  came  readily 
enough  from  the  jailbird. 

"Then  good-bye  until  to-morrow.  Don't  fol- 
low me  too  closely. ' T 

"Sure  not,"  promised  Tip.  "Ye  don't  want 
anyone  to  know  that  I'm  your  friend,  and  I'm 
good  at  keepin'  secrets." 

For  two  or  three  minutes  young  Scammon 
remained  standing  under  the  bare  tree.  But  his 
gaze  followed  the  vanishing  figure  of  Fred  Rip- 
ley,  and  a  cunning  look  gleamed  in  Tip's  eyes. 

Fred  Ripley,  when  he  had  heard  of  Tip  going 


68       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

to  prison  without  saying  a  word,  had  been  fool- 
ish enough  to  suppose  that  that  incident  in  hia 
own  life  was  closed.  Fred  had  yet  to  learn  that 
evil  remains  a  long  time  alive,  and  that  its  conse- 
quences hit  the  evil  doer  harder  than  the  victim. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  CALL  TO  THE  DIAMOND — FRED  SCHEMES 

RECESS!  As  the  long  lines  filed  rhythmic- 
ally down  from  the  second  floor,  thence 
to  the  basement,  the  leaders  of  the  files 
quickly  discovered  something  new  posted  on  the 
bulletin  board  near  the  boys'  locker  rooms. 

As  quickly  as  the  files  broke,  there  was  such 
a  rush  to  see  the  new  bulletin  that  those  who 
got  the  best  places  had  to  read  aloud  to  others. 
This  was  what  the  bulletin  proclaimed : 

NOTICE. 

The  gymnasium  will  be  open  at  2.30  this  afternoon  for 
the  gathering  of  all  male  students,  except  freshmen,  who 
may  be  interested  in  trying  to  make  either  the  school  or 
second  baseball  teams  for  the  coming  season.  Gridley  will 
have  some  notable  rivals  in  the  field  this  next  year.  In- 
formation comes  that  several  of  school  baseball  teams  will 
have  better  material  and  longer  training  for  next  season. 
It  is  earnestly  desired  that  all  members  of  the  three  upper 
classes  who  consider  themselves  capable  of  making  either 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       69 

of  the  Gridley  High  School  baseball  teams  be  on  hand  this 
afternoon,  when  as  full  plans  as  possible  will  be  made. 

By  order  of  the  Athletics  Committee  of  the  Alumni 
Association. 

(Signed)     EDWARD  LUCE, 

B.  B.  Coach. 

A  shout  of  approval  went  up  from  half  of 
those  present  as  Purcell,  of  the  junior  class, 
finished  reading. 

Many  of  those  who  had  no  thought  of  mak- 
ing the  school  or  second  teams  were  filled  with 
delight  at  thought  of  the  training  season  being 
so  soon  to  open. 

One  of  the  boys  who  was  pleased  was  Fred 
Bipley.  He  had  handed  that  five-dollar  bill  to 
Tip  Scammon  the  afternoon  before,  and  now  felt 
rather  certain  that  he  had  closed  the  door  on  the 
whole  Scammon  episode. 

Like  many  another  haughty,  disagreeable  per- 
son, Bipley  had,  in  spite  of  his  treatment  of 
others,  a  keen  desire  to  be  well  thought  of.  The 
year  before,  in  the  sophomore  class,  Fred  had 
played  as  one  of  the  pitchers  in  the  second  team, 
and  had  done  fairly  well  on  the  few  occasions 
when  he  had  been  given  a  chance. 

" There's  no  good  reason  why  I  can't  make 
the  post  of  pitcher  on  the  school  team  this  year," 
thought  young  Bipley,  with  a  thrill  of  hope  and 
expectant  delight. 


70       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

" Going  to  show  up  this  afternoon?"  asked 
Dave  of  Prescott. 

"Of  course  I  am,  Darrin,"  answered  Pres- 
cott, as  Dick  &  Co.  met  out  on  the  sidewalk. 

"Going  to  try  to  make  the  regular  team?" 

"Of  course  I  am,"  declared  Dick,  smiling. 
"And  so,  I  hope,  are  every  one  of  you  fellows." 

"I'd  like  to,"  agreed  Tom  Reade. 

"Then  don't  say  you'd  like  to;  say  you're 
going  to,"  admonished  Dick.  "The  fellow  who 
doesn't  quite  know  never  gets  much  of  any  place. 
Just  say  to  yourself  that  you're  going  to  be  one 
of  the  stars  on  the  school  team.  If  you  have  to 
fall  into  the  second  team,  don't  be  cast  down 
over  it — but  make  every  possible  effort  toward 
getting  on  the  top  team.  That's  the  spirit  that 
wins  in  athletics, ' '  finished  Dick,  sagely. 

"I'm  going  to  make  the  school  team,"  an- 
nounced Dave  Darrin.  "Not  only  that,  but  I'll 
proclaim  it  to  anyone  who'll  be  kind  enough  to 
listen.  The  school  nine,  or  'bust,'  for  me." 

"Good  enough!"  cheered  Dick.  "Now, 
then,  fellows,  we'll  all  be  on  hand  this  after- 
noon, won't  we,  and  on  every  other  afternoon 
that  we're  needed?" 

Dick  &  Co.  carried  that  proposition  by  a  un- 
animous vote. 

"But  see  here,  fellows,"  urged  Dick  Pres- 
cott, "just  try  to  keep  one  idea  in  mind,  please. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       71 

There's  a  good  deal  of  objection,  every  year, 
that  athletics  are  allowed  to  interfere  with  stud- 
ies. Now,  as  soon  as  the  end  of  recess  is  called 
to-day,  let's  every  one  of  us  go  back  with  our 
minds  closed  to  baseball.  Let  us  all  keep  our 
minds  right  on  our  studies.  Why  can't  we  six 
help  to  prove  that  interest  in  athletics  puts  the 
scholarship  mark  up,  not  down?" 

"We  can,"  nodded  Dave  Darrin.  "Good! 
I  like  that  idea.  We'll  simply  go  ahead  and 
put  our  scholarship  away  up  over  where  it  is 
at  present." 

To  this  the  other  chums  agreed  heartily. 

Luce,  the  coach  for  baseball,  was  one  of  the 
under  submasters.  He  had  made  a  record  at 
college,  for  both  baseball  and  scholarship.  He 
was  a  complete  enthusiast  on  the  game  of  the 
diamond.  The  year  before  he  had  trained  the 
school  nine  to  a  record  that  beat  anything  in 
the  High  School  line  in  the  whole  state.  His 
bulletin  announced  that  he  intended  to  try  to 
make  the  coming  nine  the  best  yet.  It  didn't 
gay  that,  in  so  many  words,  but  the  bulletin  im- 
plied it. 

Fred  Bipley  did  not  hit  upon  the  idea  of  im- 
proved scholarship.  Instead,  that  young  man 
went  into  two  classes,  after  recess,  and  reported 
"not  prepared."  Then  he  settled  back  into  a 
brown  study  of  his  chances  in  baseball. 


72       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"I  don't  suppose  Dick  &  Co.  will  have  the 
nerve  to  try  for  anything  better  than  the  second 
nine,"  muttered  Fred  to  himself.  "Still,  one 
can  never  tell  what  that  crowd  will  have  the 
nerve  to  do!>J 

School  out,  Fred  hurried  home  faster  than 
was  his  wont.  He  caught  his  father  just  as  the 
latter  was  leaving  the  lunch  table. 

"Dad,  can  I  have  a  few  minutes'  talk  with  you 
about  one  of  my  ambitions  ? ' '  pleaded  Fred. 

' '  Certainly,  my  boy, ' '  replied  the  wealthy,  re- 
tired lawyer.  "I'm  glad,  indeed,  to  hear  that 
you  have  any  ambitions.  Come  into  the  li- 
brary, if  you  can  let  your  luncheon  go  that 
long." 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Dad,  I'd  rather  eat  while 
I  talk,"  urged  Fred.  "I  have  to  be  back  at 
school  before  three." 

"What — under  discipline?"  inquired  the 
lawyer. 

"No,  sir;  it's  baseball  that  I  wish  to  talk 
about." 

"Well,  then,  Fred,  what  is  it?"  asked  his 
father. 

"Why,  sir,  we're  going  to  get  together  on  base- 
ball, this  afternoon.  The  start  for  the  season 
is  to  be  made  early  this  year.  Gridley  expects 
to  put  forth  the  finest  High  School  nine  ever." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  nodded  the  lawyer. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       73 

"School  and  college  athletics,  rightly  indulged 
in,  give  the  budding  man  health,  strength,  cour- 
age and  discipline  to  take  with  him  out  into  the 
battle  of  life.  We  didn't  have  much  in  the  way 
of  athletics  when  I  was  at  college,  but  I  appre- 
ciate the  modern  tendency  more  than  do  some 
men  of  my  age." 

Fred,  though  not  interested  in  his  father's 
praise  of  athletics  waited  patiently  until  his 
parent  had  finished. 

"I'm  pretty  sure,  Dad,  I  can  make  the  chance 
of  being  the  star  pitcher  on  the  school  team  for 
this  coming  season,  if  only  you'll  back  me  up  in 
it." 

"Why,  as  far  as  that  goes,"  replied  Lawyer 
Eipley,  "I  believe  that  about  all  the  benefits 
of  school  athletics  can  be  gained  by  one  who 
isn't  necessarily  right  at  the  top  of  the  crowd." 

"But  not  to  go  to  the  top  of  the  crowd,  and 
not  to  try  too,  Dad,  is  contrary  to  the  spirit  of 
athletics,"  argued  Fred,  rather  cleverly.  "Be- 
sides, one  of  the  best  things  about  athletics,  I 
think,  is  the  spirit  to  fight  for  leadership.  That's 
a  useful  lesson — leadership — to  carry  out  into 
life,  isn't  it,  sir?" 

"Yes,  it  is;  you're  right  about  that,  son," 
nodded  the  lawyer. 

"Well,  sir,  Everett,  one  of  the  crack  pitchers 
of  national  fame,  is  over  in  Duxbridge  for  the 


74       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

winter.  He  doesn't  go  south  with  his  team  for 
practice  until  the  middle  or  latter  part  of  Febru- 
ary. Duxbridge  is  only  twelve  miles  from  here. 
He  could  come  over  here,  or  you  could  let  your 
man  take  me  over  to  Duxbridge  in  your  auto. 
Dad,  I  want  to  be  the  pitcher  of  the  crack  bat- 
tery in  the  school  nine.  Will  you  engage 
Everett,  or  let  me  hire  him,  to  train  me  right 
from  the  start  in  all  the  best  styles  of  pitch- 
ing?" 

' 'How  much  would  it  cost ? ' '  asked  the  lawyer, 
cautiously. 

"I  don't  know  exactly,  sir.  A  few  hundred 
dollars,  probably." 

Fred 's  face  was  glowing  with  eagerness.  His 
mother,  who  was  standing  just  behind  him,  nod- 
ded encouragingly  at  her  husband. 

"  Well,  yes,  Fred,  if  you're  sure  you  can  make 
yourself  the  star  pitcher  of  the  school  nine,  I 
will." 

"When  may  I  go  to  see  Everett,  sir?"  asked 
Fred,  making  no  effort  to  conceal  the  great  joy 
this  promise  had  given  him. 

"Since  you're  to  be  engaged  for  this  after- 
noon, Fred,  we'll  make  it  to-morrow.  I'll  order 
out  the  car  and  go  over  to  Duxbridge  with  you." 

It  was  in  the  happiest  possible  frame  of  mind, 
for  him,  that  Fred  Bipley  went  back  to  the  High 
School  that  afternoon.  He  didn't  arrive  until 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       75 

five  minutes  before  the  hour  for  calling  the 
meeting;  he  didn't  care  to  be  of  the  common 
crowd  that  would  be  on  hand  at  or  soon  after 
two-thirty. 

"When  he  entered,  he  found  a  goodly  and  noisy 
crowd  of  some  eighty  High  School  boys  of  the 
three  upper  classes  present.  Ripley  nodded  to 
a  few  with  whom  he  was  on  the  best  terms. 

Settees  had  been  placed  at  one  end  of  the 
gym.  There  was  an  aisle  between  two  groups 
of  these  seats. 

"Gentlemen,  you'll  please  come  to  order, 
now,"  called  out  Coach  Luce,  mounting  to  a 
small  platform  before  the  seats. 

It  took  a  couple  of  minutes  to  get  the  eager, 
half-turbulent  throng  seated  in  order.  Then 
the  coach  rapped  sharply,  and  instantly  all  was 
silence,  save  for  the  voice  of  the  speaker. 

"Gentlemen,"  announced  Mr.  Luce,  "it  is 
the  plan  to  make  the  next  season  the  banner  one 
in  baseball  in  all  our  school's  history.  This  will 
call  for  some  real  work,  for  constantly  sustained 
effort.  Every  man  who  goes  into  the  baseball 
training  squad  will  be  expected  to  do  his  full 
share  of  general  gymnastic  work  here,  and  to 
improve  every  favorable  chance  for  such  cross- 
country running  and  other  outdoor  sports  as 
may  be  ordered. 

1  *  To-day,  as  we  are  so  close  to  Christmas,  we 


76       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

will  arrange  only  the  general  details — have  a 
sort  of  mapping-out,  as  it  were.  But  immedi- 
ately after  the  holidays  the  entire  baseball  squad 
that  enrolls  will  be  required  to  start  at  once 
to  get  in  general  athletic  condition.  There  will 
be  hard — what  some  may  call  grilling — gym. 
work  at  the  outset,  and  much  of  the  gym.  work 
will  be  kept  up  even  after  the  actual  ball  prac- 
tice begins. 

"Early  in  February  work  in  the  baseball  cage 
must  begin,  and  it  will  be  made  rather  severe 
this  year.  In  fact,  I  can  assure  you  that 
the  whole  training,  this  coming  year,  will  be 
something  that  none  but  those  who  mean  to 
train  in  earnest  can  get  through  with  success- 
fully. 

"Any  man  who  is  detected  smoking  cigarettes 
or  using  tobacco  in  any  form,  will  be  dropped 
from  the  squad  instantly.  Every  man  who  en- 
rolls will  be  required  to  make  a  promise  to  ab- 
stain, until  the  end  of  the  ball  season,  from 
tobacco  in  any  form. 

"In  past  years  we  have  often  been  urged  to 
adopt  the  training  table,  in  order  that  no  greedy 
man  may  eat  himself  out  of  physical  condition. 
It  is  not,  of  course,  feasible  to  provide  such  a 
table  here  at  the  gym.  I  wish  it  were.  But  we 
will  have  training  table  to  just  this  extent: 
Every  member  of  the  squad  will  be  handed  a 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       77 

list  of  the  things  he  may  eat  or  drink,  and  an- 
other list  of  those  things  that  are  barred.  The 
only  exception,  in  the  way  of  departure,  from 
the  training  list,  will  be  the  Christmas  dinner. 
Every  man  who  enrolls  is  in  honor  bound  to 
stick  closely  to  his  list  of  permissible  foods  until 
the  end  of  the  training  season. 

"Remember,  this  year's  work  is  to  be  one  of 
the  hardest  work  and  all  the  necessary  self- 
denial.  It  must  be  a  disciplined  and  sustained 
effort  for  excellence  and  victory.  Those  who 
cannot  accept  these  principles  in  full  are  urged 
not  to  enroll  in  the  squad  at  all. 

"Now,  I  will  wait  five  minutes,  during  which 
conversation  will  be  in  order.  When  I  call  the 
meeting  to  order  again  I  will  ask  all  who  have 
decided  to  enter  the  squad  to  occupy  the  seats 
here  at  my  right  hand,  the  others  to  take  the 
seats  at  my  left  hand. ' ' 

Immediately  a  buzz  of  talk  ran  around  that 
end  of  the  gym.  The  High  School  boys  left 
their  seats  and  moved  about,  talking  over  the 
coach's  few  but  pointed  remarks. 

"How  do  you  like  Mr.  Luce's  idea,  Dick?" 
asked  Tom  Reade. 

"It's  good  down  to  the  ground,  and  all  the 
way  up  again,"  Dick  retorted,  enthusiastically. 
"His  ideas  are  just  the  ideas  I'm  glad  to  hear 
put  forward.  No  shirking;  every  effort  bent 


78       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

on  excelling,  and  every  man  to  keep  his  own 
body  as  strong,  clean  and  wholesome  as  a  body 
can  be  kept.  Why,  that  alone  is  worth  more 
than  victory.  It  means  a  fellow's  victory  over 
all  sloth  and  bad  habits!" 

"Luce  meant  all  he  said,  too,  and  the  fellows 
know  he  did,"  declared  Dave  Damn.  "I  won- 
der what  effect  it  will  have  on  the  size  of  the 
squad  ? ' ' 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  curiosity  on  that 
score.  The  five  minutes  passed  quickly.  Then 
Coach  Luce  called  for  the  division.  As  the  new 
baseball  squad  gathered  at  the  right-hand  seats 
there  was  an  eager  counting. 

"Forty-nine,"  announced  Greg  Holmes,  as 
soon  as  he  had  finished  counting.  "Five  whole 
nines  and  a  few  extras  left  over." 

"I'm  glad  to  see  that  Gridley  High  School  grit 
is  up  to  the  old  standard, ' '  declared  Coach  Luce, 
cheerily,  after  he  had  brought  them  to  order. 
1 1  Our  squad,  this  year,  contains  three  more  men 
than  appeared  last  year.  It  is  plain  that  my 
threats  haven't  scared  anyone  off  the  Gridley 
diamond.  Now,  I  am  going  to  write  down  the 
names  of  the  squad.  Then  I  will  ask  each  mem- 
ber, as  his  name  is  called,  to  indicate  the  posi- 
tion for  which  he  wishes  to  qualify." 

There  was  a  buzz  of  conversation  again,  until 
the  names  had  all  been  written  down.  Then, 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       79 

after  Coach  Luce  had  called  for  silence,  he  be- 
gan to  read  off  the  names  in  alphabetical  order. 

1  'Dalzell  f ' '  asked  the  coach,  when  he  had  gone 
that  far  down  on  the  list. 

" First  base,"  answered  Dan,  loudly  and 
promptly. 

"Darrin?" 

"Pitcher,"  responded  Dave. 

There  was  a  little  ripple  of  surprise.  When 
a  sophomore  goes  in  for  work  in  the  box  it  is 
notice  that  he  has  a  good  opinion  of  his  abili- 
ties. 

A  few  more  names  were  called  off.    Then: 

i'Hazeltont" 

"Short  stop,"  replied  Harry,  coolly. 

' '  Whew ! ' '  An  audible  gasp  of  surprise  went 
up  and  traveled  around. 

After  the  battery,  the  post  of  short  stop  is 
the  swiftest  thing  for  which  to  reach  out. 

"Holmes?" 

"Left  field." 

"It's  plain  enough,"  sneered  Fred  Eipley  to 
the  fellow  beside  him,  "that  Dick  &  Co.,  report- 
ers and  ragamuffins,  expect  to  be  two  thirds  of 
the  nine.  I  wonder  whom  they'll  allow  to  hold 
the  other  three  positions?" 

Several  more  names  were  called  off.  Then 
came: 

"Prescott?" 


"Pitcher,"  Dick  answered,  quietly. 

A  thrill  of  delight  went  through  Fred.  This 
was  more  luek  than  he  had  hoped  for.  What 
great  delight  there  was  going  to  be  in  beating 
out  Dick  Prescott! 

"Beade?" 

"Second  base." 

"Bipley?" 

"P-p-pitcher!"  Fred  fairly  stuttered  in  his 
eagerness  to  get  the  word  out  emphatically.  In 
fact,  the  word  left  him  so  explosively  that  sev- 
eral of  the  fellows  caught  themselves  laughing. 

"Oh,  laugh,  then,  hang  you  all!"  muttered 
Fred,  in  a  low  voice,  glaring  all  around  him. 
"But  you  don't  know  what  you're  laughing  at. 
Maybe  I  won't  show  you  something  in  the  way 
of  real  pitching!" 

"The  first  Tuesday  after  the  holidays'  vaca- 
tion the  squad  will  report  here  for  gymnastic 
work  from  three-thirty  to  five,"  called  the  coach. 
"Now,  I'll  talk  informally  with  any  who  wish 
to  ask  questions." 

Fred  Kipley's  face  was  aglow  with  satisfac- 
tion. His  eyes  fairly  glistened  with  his  secret, 
inward  triumph. 

"So  you  think  you  can  pitch,  Prescott?"  he 
muttered  to  himself.  ' '  Humph !  With  the  great 
Everett  training  me  for  weeks,  I'll  make  you 
look  like  a  pewter  monkey,  Dick  Prescott" 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       81 


CHAPTER  VII 

DAVE   TALKS  WITH  ONE   HAND 

r  •  ^J±hJ  next  afternoon  Fred  and  his  father 
went  over  to  Duxbridge. 

They  found  the  great  Everett  at  home, 
and  not  only  at  home,  but  willing  to  take  up 
with  their  proposal. 

The  celebrated  professional  pitcher  named  a 
price  that  caused  Lawyer  Ripley  to  hesitate  for 
a  few  moments.  Then  catching  the  appealing 
look  in  his  son's  face,  the  elder  Ripley  agreed 
to  the  terms.  The  training  was  to  be  given  at 
Duxbridge,  in  Everett's  big  and  almost  empty 
barn. 

That  night  Lawyer  Ripley,  a  man  of  prompt 
habit  in  business,  mailed  his  check  for  the  en- 
tire amount. 

Fred,  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  room,  danced 
several  brief  but  exuberant  jigs. 

' '  Now,  I  Ve  got  you,  Dick  Prescott !  And  I  Ve 
not  only  got  you,  but  if  you  come  in  second  to 
me,  I'll  try  to  keep  in  such  condition  that  I 
pitch  every  important  game  of  the  whole  sea- 
son ! ' ' 

But  the  next  morning  the  Ripley  heir  received 
a  sad  jolt.  In  one  of  his  text-books  he  ran  across 

6— The  High  School  Pitcher. 


82       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

a  piece  of  cardboard  on  which  was  printed,  in 
coarse  characters: 

"Tuday,  same  plas,  same  time.  Bring  ten. 
Or  don't,  if  yon  dare!" 

"That  infernal  blackmailer,  Tip  Scammon!" 
flared  Fred  indignantly. 

In  the  courage  of  desperation  Fred  promptly 
decided  that  he  would  ignore  the  Scammon  ras- 
cal. Nor  did  Fred  change  his  mind.  Besides, 
this  afternoon  he  was  dne  at  Duxbridge  for  his 
first  lesson  under  the  mighty  Everett. 

So  Tip  was  on  hand  at  the  drug  store  beside 
the  post  office,  but  no  Fred  came.  Tip  scowled 
and  hung  about  in  the  neighborhood  until  after 
four  o  'clock.  Then  he  went  away,  a  black  look 
indeed  on  his  not  handsome  face. 

Meanwhile,  most  of  the  people  of  Gridley,  as 
elsewhere  in  the  Christian  world,  were  thinking 
of  "Peace  on  Earth"  and  all  that  goes  with  it. 
The  stores  were  radiant  with  decorations  and 
the  display  of  gifts.  The  candy  stores  and  hot 
soda  places  were  doing  a  rushing  business. 

Dick,  who  had  been  scurrying  about  in  search 
of  a  few  news  paragraphs,  and  had  found  them, 
encountered  Dave  Darrin.  Being  something  of 
a  capitalist  in  these  days,  when  "The  Blade'* 
was  paying  him  two  and  a  half  to  three  dollars 
a  week,  Prescott  invited  his  chum  in  to  have 
a  hot  soda.  While  they  were  still  in  the  place 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       83 

Laura  Bentley  and  Belle  Meade  entered.  The 
High  School  boys  lifted  their  hats  courteously 
to  the  girls  and  Dick  invited  them  to  have  their 
soda  with  Dave  and  himself. 

"We  hear  that  baseball  is  going  to  be  a  mat- 
ter of  great  enthusiasm  during  the  next  few 
months,"  said  Laura,  as  they  sipped  their  soda. 

"Yes;  and  the  cause  of  no  end  of  heart- 
burnings and  envies, ' '  laughed  Prescott.  *  *  From 
just  after  the  holidays  to  some  time  in  April 
every  fellow  will  be  busy  trying  to  make  the 
school  team,  and  will  feel  aggrieved  if  he  hits 
only  the  second  team." 

"Who's  going  to  pitch  for  the  school  nine?" 
asked  Belle. 

"Dick  Prescott,"  declared  Dave  instantly. 

"I'd  like  to,"  nodded  Dick,  "but  I've  several 
good  men  against  me.  Darrin  may  take  it  all 
away  from  me.  There  are  eight  men  down  for 
pitching,  altogether,  so  it  isn't  going  to  be  an 
easy  cinch  for  anyone." 

' '  The  nine  always  has  more  than  one  pitcher. 
Why  can't  you  make  the  position  of  pitcher, 
too?"  asked  Belle,  looking  at  Dave. 

"Oh,  I  may  make  the  job  of  brevet-pitcher 
on  the  second  nine,"  Dave  laughed  good- 
humoredly.  "The  only  reason  I  put  my  name 
down  for  pitcher  was  so  as  to  make  the  fight 
look  bigger." 


84       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"Who  are  the  other  candidates  for  pitcher?" 
asked  Laura, 

"Well,  Ripley 's  one,"  replied  Dave. 

"Ripley?  Oh,  he!"  uttered  Miss  Bentley,  in 
a  tone  of  scorn. 

"I  understand  he's  no  fool  of  a  pitcher," 
Dick  remarked. 

"I  congratulate  him,  then,"  smiled  Laura. 

"On  what?" 

"Not  being  a  fool  in  everything,"  returned 
Laura.  Then  she  added,  quickly: 

"I'm  afraid  that  expresses  my  real  opinion, 
but  I've  no  right  to  say  it." 

"There  are  two  reasons  why  you  shouldn't 
say  it,"  added  Dave,  gravely. 

"What  are  they?"  Laura  wanted  to  know. 

"First  of  all — well,  pardon  me,  but  it  sounds 
like  talking  about  another  behind  his  back.  The 
other  reason  is  that  Ripley  isn't  worth  talking 
about,  anyway." 

"Now,  what  are  you  doing?"  demanded 
Belle. 

"Oh,  well,"  Dave  replied,  "Ripley  knows  my 
opinion  of  him  pretty  well.  But  what  are  you 
doing  this  afternoon?" 

"We're  going  shopping,"  Laura  informed  the 
boys  as  the  quartette  left  the  soda  fountain. 
"Do  you  care  to  go  around  with  us  and  look 
at  the  displays  in  the  stores?" 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       85 

"That's  about  all  shopping  means,  isn't  it?" 
smiled  Dick.  "Just  going  around  and  looking 
at  things?" 

"Then  if  you  don't  care  to  come  with  us " 

pouted  Miss  Bentley. 

"Stop — please  do,  I  beg  of  you,"  Dick  hastily 
added.  "Of  course  we  want  to  go." 

The  two  chums  put  in  a  very  pleasant  hour 
wandering  about  through  the  stores  with  the 
High  School  girls.  Laura  and  Belle  did  make 
some  small  purchases  of  materials  out  of  which 
they  intended  to  make  gifts  for  the  approaching 
holiday. 

As  they  came  out  of  the  last  store  they  moved 
toward  the  corner,  the  girls  intending  to  take 
a  car  to  pay  a  little  visit  to  an  aunt  of  Laura's 
before  the  afternoon  was  over. 

Dick  saw  something  in  one  of  the  windows 
at  the  corner  and  signed  to  Dave  to  come  over. 
The  two  girls  were  left,  momentarily,  standing 
on  the  corner. 

While  they  stood  thus  Fred  Eipley  came 
along.  His  first  lesson  in  pitching  had  been 
brief,  the  great  Everett  declining  to  tire  the 
boy's  arm  too  much  at  the  first  drill.  So  young 
Bipley,  after  a  twelve-mile  trip  in  the  auto 
through  the  crisp  December  air,  came  swinging 
down  the  street  at  a  brisk  walk. 

Just  as  this  moment  he  espied  the  two  girls, 


86       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

though  lie  did  not  see  Dick  or  Dave.  Belle  hap- 
pened to  turn  as  Kipley  came  near  her. 

"Hullo,  Meade!"  he  called,  patronizingly. 

It  is  a  trick  with  some  High  School  boys  thus 
to  address  a  girl  student  by  her  last  name  only, 
but  it  is  not  the  act  of  a  gentleman.  Belle  re- 
sented it  by  stiffening  at  once,  and  glancing 
coldly  at  Eipley  without  greeting  him. 

In  another  instant  Dave  Darrin,  at  a  bound, 
stood  before  the  astonished  Fred.  Dave's  eyes 
were  flashing  in  a  way  they  were  wont  to  do 
when  he  was  thoroughly  angry. 

"Eipley — you  cur!  To  address  a  young  wo- 
man in  that  familiar  fashion ! ' '  glared  Dave. 

"What  have  you  to  say  about  it?"  demanded 
Fred,  insolently. 

"This!"  was  Dave  Darrin 's  only  answer  in 
words. 

Smack!  His  fist  landed  on  one  side  of  Fred's 
face.  The  latter  staggered,  then  slipped  to  the 
ground. 

"There's  the  car,  Dick,"  uttered  Dave,  in  a 
low  tone.  "Put  the  girls  aboard." 

Half  a  dozen  passers-by  had  already  turned 
and  were  coming  back  to  learn  the  meaning  of 
this  encounter.  Dick  understood  how  awkward 
the  situation  would  be  for  the  girls,  so  he  glided 
forward,  hailed  the  car,  and  led  Laura  and  Belle 
out  to  it. 


His  Fist  Landed  on  One  Side  of  Fred's  Face. 
87 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       89 

"But  I'd  rather  stay,"  whispered  Belle,  in 
protest.  "I  want  to  make  sure  that  Dave 
doesn't  get  into  any  trouble." 

'  *  He  won 't, ' '  Dick  promised.  ' '  It  '11  save  him 
annoyance  if  he  knows  you  girls  are  not  being 
stared  at  by  curious  rowdies." 

Dick  quickly  helped  the  girls  aboard  the  ear, 
then  nodded  to  the  conductor  to  ring  the  bell. 
A  second  later  Dick  was  bounding  back  to  his 
chum's  side. 

Fred  Ripley  was  on  his  feet,  scowling  at  Dave 
Darrin.  The  latter,  though  his  fists  were  not 
up,  was  plainly  in  an  attitude  where  he  could 
quickly  defend  himself. 

"That  was  an  unprovoked  assault,  yon 
rowdy ! ' '  Fred  exclaimed  wrathf ully. 

"I'd  trust  to  any  committee  of  gentlemen  to 
exonerate  me,"  Dave  answered  coolly.  "You 
acted  the  rowdy,  Bipley,  and  you'd  show  more 
sense  if  yon  admitted  it  and  reformed." 

"What  did  he  do!"  demanded  one  of  the 
curious  ones  in  the  crowd. 

"He  addressed  a  young  lady  with  offensive 
familiarity,"  Dave  replied  hotly. 

"What  did  you  do?"  demanded  another  in 
the  crowd. 

"I  knocked  him  down,"  Dave  admitted 
coolly. 

"Well,  that's  about  the  proper  thing  to  do," 


90       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

declared  another  bystander.  "The  Ripley  kid 
has  no  kick  coming  to  him.  Move  on,  young 
feller!" 

Fred  started,  glaring  angrily  at  the  speaker. 
But  half  a  dozen  pressed  forward  about  him. 
Ripley 's  face  went  white  with  rage  when  he 
found  himself  being  edged  off  the  sidewalk  into 
the  gutter. 

"Get  back,  there,  you,  and  leave  me  alone!" 
he  ordered,  hoarsely. 

A  laugh  from  the  crowd  was  the  first  answer. 
Then  some  one  gave  the  junior  a  shove  that  sent 
him  spinning  out  into  the  street. 

Ripley  darted  by  the  crowd  now,  his  caution 
and  his  dread  of  too  much  of  a  scene  coming  to 
his  aid.  Besides,  some  one  had  just  called  out, 
banteringly: 

"Why  not  take  him  to  the  horse  trough?" 

That  decided  Fred  on  quick  retreat.  Ducked, 
deservedly,  by  a  crowd  on  Main  Street,  Ripley 
could  never  regain  real  standing  in  the  High 
School,  and  he  knew  that. 

As  soon  as  they  could  Dick  and  Dave  walked 
on  to  "The  Blade"  office.  Here  Darrin  took  a 
chair  in  the  corner,  occasionally  glancing  almost 
enviously  at  Prescott,  as  the  latter,  seated  at  a 
reporter's  table,  slowly  wrote  the  few  little  local 
items  that  he  had  picked  up  during  the  after- 
noon. When  Dick  had  finished  he  handed  his 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       91 

"copy"  to  Mr.  Pollock,  and  the  chums  left  the 
office. 

"Dick,  old  fellow,"  hinted  Dave,  con- 
fidentially, "I'm  afraid  I  ought  to  give  you  a 
tip,  even  though  it  does  make  me  feel  something 
like  a  spy." 

"Under  such  circumstances,"  smiled  Pres- 
cott,  "it  might  be  well  to  think  twice  before 
giving  the  tip." 

"IVe  thought  about  it  seventeen  times 
already,"  Dave  asserted,  gravely,  "and  you're 
my  chum,  anyway.  So  here  goes.  When  we 
were  in  the  department  store,  do  you  remember 
that  the  girls  were  looking  over  some  worsteds, 
or  yarns,  or  whatever  you  call  the  stuff?" 

"Yes,"  Prescott  nodded. 

"Well,  I  couldn't  quite  help  hearing  Laura 
Bentley  say  to  Belle  that  the  yarn  she  picked 
up  was  just  what  she  wanted  for  you." 

"What  on  earth  did  that  mean?"  queried 
Dick,  looking  almost  startled. 

"It  means  that  you're  going  to  get  a  Christ- 
mas present  from  Laura,"  Dave  answered. 

"But  I  never  had  a  present  from  a  girl  be- 
fore!" 

"Most  anything  is  likely  to  happen,"  laughed 
Dave,  "now  that  you're  a  sophomore — and  a 
reporter,  too." 

"Thank  goodness  I'm  earning  a  little 


now, ' '  murimired  Dick,  breathing  a  bit  rapidly. 
"But,  say,  Dave!" 

"Well?" 

"What  on  earth  does  one  give  a  girl  at  Christ- 
mas?" 

"Tooth-powder,  scented  soap,  ribbons — oh, 
hang  it!  I  don't  know,"  floundered  Dave 
hopelessly.  "Anyway,  I  don't  have  to  know. 
It's  your  scrape,  Dick  Prescott!" 

"Yours,  too,  Dave  Darrin!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

' '  Why,  I  saw  Belle  buying  some  of  that  yarny 
stuff,  too." 

"Great  Scott!"  groaned  Dave.  "Say,  what 
do  you  suppose  they're  planning  to  put  up  on 
us  for  a  Christmas  job?  Some  of  those  big-as- 
all-outdoors,  wobbly,  crocheted  slippers?" 


CHAPTER  VHI 

HUH?      WOOLLY   CKOCHETED   SLIPPERS 

THE  night  before  Christmas  Dick  Prescott 
attended  a  ball,  in  his  new  capacity  of 
reporter. 

Being  young,  also  "green"  in  the  ways  of 
newspaper  work,  he  imagined  it  his  duty  to  re- 
main rather  late  in  order  to  be  sure  that  he  had 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       93 

all  the  needed  data  for  the  brief  description 
that  he  was  to  write  for  "The  Blade/* 

Christinas  morning  the  boy  slept  late,  for  his 
parents  did  not  call  him.  When,  at  last,  Dick 
did  appear  in  the  dining  room  he  found  some 
pleasing  gifts  from  his  father  and  mother. 
When  he  had  sufficiently  examined  them,  Mrs. 
Prescott  smiled  as  she  said: 

"Now,  step  into  the  parlor,  Eichard,  and 
you'll  find  something  that  came  for  you  this 
morning. ' ' 

"But,  first  of  all,  mother,  I've  something  for 
you  and  Dad.'* 

Dick  went  back  into  his  room,  bringing  out, 
with  some  pride,  a  silver-plated  teapot  on  a 
tray  of  the  same  material.  It  wasn't  much,  but 
it  was  the  finest  gift  he  had  ever  been  able  to 
make  his  parents.  He  came  in  for  a  good  deal 
of  thanks  and  other  words  of  appreciation. 

"But  you're  forgetting  the  package  in  the 
parlor,"  persisted  Mrs.  Prescott  presently. 

Dick  nodded,  and  hurried  in,  thinking  to  him- 
self: 

"The  worsted  slippers  from  the  girls,  I  sup- 
pose. ' ' 

To  his  surprise  the  boy  found  Dave  Darrin 
sitting  in  the  room,  while,  on  a  chair  near  by 
rested  a  rather  bulky  package. 

After  exchanging  "Merry  Christmas"  greet- 


94       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

ings  with  Darrin,  Dick  turned  to  look  at  the 
package.  To  it  was  tied  a  card,  which  read: 

"From  Laura  Bentley  and  Isabella  Meade, 
with  kindest  Christmas  greetings." 

"That  doesn't  look  like  slippers,  Dave,"  mur- 
mured Dick,  as  he  pulled  away  the  cord  that 
bound  the  package. 

"I'll  bet  you're  getting  a  duplicate  of  what 
came  to  me,"  Darrin  answered. 

"What  was  that?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  until  I  see 
yours." 

Dick  quickly  had  the  wrapper  off,  unfolding 
something  woolleny. 

"That's  it!"  cried  Dave,  jubilantly.  "I 
thought  so.  Mine  was  the  same,  except  that 
Belle's  name  was  ahead  of  Laura's  on  the  card." 

Dick  felt  almost  dazed  for  an  instant.  Then 
a  quick  rush  of  color  came  to  his  face. 

The  object  that  he  held  was  a  bulky,  substan- 
tial, woven  "sweater."  Across  the  front  of  it 
had  been  worked,  in  cross-stitch,  the  initials, 
"G.  H.  S." 

"Gridley  High  School!  Did  you  get  one  just 
like  this,  Dave?" 

"Yes." 

"But  we  can't  wear  'em,"  muttered  Dick. 
"The  initials  are  allowed  only  to  the  students 
who  have  made  some  school  team,  or  who  have 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER      95 

captured  some  major  athletic  event.  We've 
never  done  either." 

" That's  just  the  point  of  the  gift,  I  reckon," 
beamed  Darrin. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  cried  Dick.  "These  sweaters 
are  our  orders  to  go  ahead  and  make  the  base- 
ball nine." 

"That's  just  it,"  declared  Dave. 

"Well,  it's  mighty  fine  of  the  girls,"  mur- 
mured Dick,  gratefully.  "Are  you  going  to  ac- 
cept yours,  Dave?" 

"Accept?"  retorted  Dave.  "Why,  it  would 
be  rank  not  to." 

"Of  course,"  Fresco tt  agreed.  "But  you 
know  what  acceptance  carries  with  it?  Now, 
we've  got  to  make  the  nine,  whether  or  not.  We 
pledge  ourselves  to  that  in  accepting  these  fine 
gifts." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  nodded  Dave,  cheerily. 
"You're  going  to  make  the  team." 

"If  there's  any  power  in  me  to  do  it,"  de- 
clared Dick. 

"And  you're  going  to  drag  me  in  after  you. 
Dick,  old  fellow,  we've  absolutely  as  good  as 
promised  that  we  will  make  the  nine." 

Dick  Prescott  was  now  engaged  in  pulling  the 
sweater  over  his  head.  This  accomplished,  he 
stood  surveying  himself  in  the  glass. 

"Gracious!    But  this  is  fine,"  gasped  young 


96       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Prescott.  "And  now,  oh,  Dave,  but  we've  got 
to  hustle!  Think  how  disgusted  the  girls  will 
be  if  we  fail." 

"We  can't  fail,  now,"  declared  Dave  earn- 
estly. "The  girls,  and  the  sweaters  themselves, 
are  our  mascots  against  failure." 

"Good!  That's  the  right  talk!"  cheered 
Prescott,  seizing  his  chum's  hand.  "Yes,  sir! 
We'll  make  the  nine  or  bury  ourselves  under  a 
shipload  of  self -disgust ! ' ' 

"Both  of  the  girls  must  have  a  hand  in  each 
sweater,"  Dave  went  on,  examining  Dick's 
closely.  "I  can't  see  a  shade  of  difference  be- 
tween yours  and  mine.  But  I'm  afraid  the 
other  fellows  in  Dick  &  Co.  will  feel  just  a  bit 
green  with  envy  over  our  good  luck." 

"It's  a  mighty  fine  gift,"  Dick  went  on,  "yet 
I'm  almost  inclined  to  wish  the  girls  hadn't  done 
it.  It  must  have  made  a  big  inroad  in  their 
Christmas  money." 

"That's  so,"  nodded  Darrin,  thoughtfully. 
"But  say,  Dick!  I'm  thundering  glad  I  got 
wind  of  this  before  it  happened.  Thank  good- 
ness we  didn't  have  to  leave  the  girls  out. 
Though  we  would  have  missed  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you." 

"I  wonder  how  the  girls  like  their  gifts'?" 
mused  Dick. 

It  was  sheer  good  luck  that  had  enabled  these 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       97 

youngsters  to  make  a  good  showing.  A  new- 
style  device  for  women,  consisting  of  heater  and 
tongs  for  curling  the  hair,  was  on  the  market 
this  year.  Electric  current  was  required  for  the 
heater,  but  both  Laura  and  Belle  had  electric 
light  service  in  their  homes.  This  new-style 
device  was  one  of  the  fads  of  this  Christmas  sea- 
son. The  retail  price  was  eight  dollars  per  out- 
fit, and  a  good  many  had  been  sold  before  the 
holidays.  The  advertising  agent  for  the  manu- 
facturing concern  had  been  in  town,  and  had 
presented  "The  Blade"  with  two  of  these  de- 
vices. Despite  the  eight-dollar  price,  the  de- 
vices cost  only  a  small  fraction  of  that  amount 
to  manufacture,  so  the  advertising  agent  had 
not  been  extremely  generous  in  leaving  the  pair. 

"What  on  earth  shall  we  do  with  them1?" 
grunted  Pollock,  in  Dick's  hearing.  "We're  all 
bachelors  here." 

"Sell  'em  to  me,  if  you  don't  want  'em," 
spoke  up  Dick,  quickly.  "What '11  you  take  for 
'em?  Make  it  low,  to  fit  a  schoolboy's  shallow 
purse." 

' '  Hm !  I  '11  speak  to  the  proprietor  about  it, ' ' 
replied  Pollock,  who  presently  brought  back  the 
word: 

"As  they're  for  you,  Dick,  the  proprietor 
says  you  can  take  the  pair  for  two-fifty.  And 
if  you're  short  of  cash,  I'll  take  fifty  cents  a 

y—The  High  School  Pitcher. 


98       THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

week  out  of  your  space  bill  until  the  amount  is 
paid." 

"Fine  and  dandy!"  uttered  Dick,  his  eyes 
glowing. 

"One's  for  your  mother,"  hinted  Mr.  Pol- 
lock teasingly.  "But  who's  the  girl?" 

* '  Two  girls, ' '  Dick  corrected  him,  unabashed. 
"My  mother  never  uses  hair-curlers." 

"Two  girls?"  cried  Mr.  Pollock,  looking 
aghast.  "Dick!  Dick!  You  study  history  at 
the  High  School,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir;  of  course." 

"Then  don't  you  know,  my  boy,  how  often 
two  girls  have  altered  the  fates  of  whole  na- 
tions ?  Tremble  and  be  wise ! ' ' 

"I  haven't  any  girl,"  Dick  retorted,  sensibly, 
"and  I  think  a  fellow  is  weak-minded  to  talk 
about  having  a  girl  until  he  can  also  talk  au- 
thoritatively on  the  ability  to  support  a  wife, 
But  there's  a  good  deal  of  social  life  going  on 
at  the  High  School,  Mr.  Pollock,  and  I'm  very, 
very  glad  of  this  chance  to  cancel  my  obliga- 
tions so  cheaply  and  at  the  same  time  rather 
handsomely." 

So  Laura  and  Belle  had  each  received,  that 
Christmas  morning,  a  present  that  proved  a 
source  of  delight. 

"Yet  I  didn't  expect  the  foolish  boys  to  send 
me  anything  like  this,"  Laura  told  herself, 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER       99 

rather  regretfully.  "I'm  sure  they've  pledged 
their  pocket  money  for  weeks  on  this." 

When  Belle  called,  it  developed  that  she  had 
received  an  identical  gift. 

"It's  lovely  of  the  boys,"  Belle  admitted. 
"But  it's  foolish,  too,  for  they've  had  to  use 
their  pocket  money  away  ahead,  I'm  certain." 

Dick  and  Dave  had  sent  their  gifts,  as  had 
the  girls,  in  both  names. 

Christmas  was  a  day  of  rejoicing  among  all 
of  the  High  School  students  except  the  least- 
favored  ones. 

Fred  Eipley,  however,  spent  his  Christmas 
day  in  a  way  differing  from  the  enjoyments  of 
any  of  the  others.  A  new  fever  of  energy  had 
seized  the  young  man.  In  his  fierce  determin- 
ation to  carry  away  the  star  pitchership,  especi- 
ally from  Dick  Prescott,  Eipley  employed  even 
Christmas  afternoon  by  going  over  to  Dux- 
bridge  and  taking  another  lesson  in  pitching 
from  the  great  Everett. 


100     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 


CHAPTER  IX 

FRED  PITCHES  A  BOMBSHELL  INTO  TRAINING  CAMP 

"  /^V  NE,  two,  three,  four !    One,  two,  three, 

II      four! 

"Halt!    Rest!" 

"Attention!  Overhead  to  front  and  back. 
Commence!  One,  two,  three,  four!" 

Coach  Luce's  voice  rang  out  in  a  solid,  carry- 
ing tone  of  military  command. 

The  baseball  squad  was  hard  at  work  in  the 
gymnasium,  perspiring  even  though  the  gym. 
was  not  heated  above  fifty  degrees. 

Dumb-bell  drill  was  going  off  with  great  snap. 
It  was  followed  by  work  with  the  Indian  clubs. 
Then,  after  a  brief  rest,  the  entire  squad  took 
to  the  track  in  the  gallery.  For  ten  minutes 
the  High  School  young  men  jogged  around  the 
track.  Any  fellow  in  the  lot  would  have  been 
ashamed  to  drop  out,  short  of  breath. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one  was  out  of  breath. 
Mr.  Luce  was  what  the  boys  called  a  "griller," 
and  he  certainly  knew  all  about  whipping  a  lot 
of  youngsters  into  fine  physical  shape. 

This  training  work  was  now  along  in  the  third 
week  of  the  new  winter  term. 

Three  times  weekly  the  squad  had  been  as- 
sembled. On  other  days  of  the  week,  the  young 


men  were  pledged  to  outside  running,  when  the 
roads  permitted,  and  to  certain  indoor  work  at 
other  times. 

Every  member  of  the  big  squad  now  began  to 
feel  "hard  as  nails. "  Slight  defects  in  breath- 
ing had  been  corrected;  lung-power  had  been 
developed,  and  backs  that  ached  at  first,  from 
the  work,  had  now  grown  too  well  seasoned  to 
ache.  Every  member  of  the  squad  was  consci- 
ous of  a  new,  growing  muscular  power.  Hard, 
bumpy  muscles  were  not  being  cultivated.  The 
long,  smooth,  lithe  and  active  "Indian"  muscle, 
built  more  for  endurance  than  for  great 
strength,  was  the  ideal  of  Coach  Luce. 

After  the  jogging  came  a  halt  for  rest.  Luce 
now  addressed  them. 

"Young  gentlemen,  I  know,  well  enough,  that, 
while  all  this  work  is  good  for  you,  you're  all 
of  you  anxious  to  see  the  production  of  the  regu- 
lar League  ball  on  this  floor.  Now,  the  base- 
ball cage  will  not  be  put  up  for  a  few  days  yet. 
However,  this  afternoon,  for  the  rest  of  our 
tour,  I  'm  going  to  produce — the  ball ! ' ' 

A  joyous  "hurrah!"  went  up  from  the  squad. 
The  ball  was  the  real  thing  in  their  eyes. 

Coach  Luce  turned  away  to  one  of  the  spaci- 
ous cupboard  lockers,  returning  with  a  ball,  still 
in  the  sealed  package,  and  a  bat  with  well 
wrapped  handle. 


102     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"I'll  handle  the  bat,"  announced  Mr.  Luce, 
smiling.  "It's  just  barely  possible  that  I  can 
drive  a  good  liner  straighter  than  some  of  you, 
and  put  it  nearer  where  I  want  it.  Until  the 
cage  is  in  place,  I  don't  like  to  risk  smashing 
any  of  the  gymnasium  windows.  Now,  which 
one  of  you  pitchers  is  ambitious  to  do  some- 
thing!" 

Naturally,  all  of  them  were.  Yet  none  liked 
to  appear  too  forward  or  greedy,  so  silence  fol- 
lowed. 

"I'll  try  you  modest  young  men  out  on  my 
own  lines,  then,"  laughed  the  coach.  Calling 
to  one  of  the  juniors  to  stand  behind  him  as 
catcher,  Luce  continued: 

"Darrin,  as  you're  a  candidate  for  pitcher, 
show  us  some  of  the  things  you  can  do  to  fool 
a  batsman." 

Dave  took  his  post,  his  face  a  bit  red.  He 
handled  the  ball  for  a  few  moments,  rather 
nervously. 

"Don't  get  rattled,  lad,"  counseled  the  coach. 
"Remember,  this  is  just  fun.  Bear  in  mind 
that  you're  aiming  to  send  the  ball  in  to  the 
catcher.  Don't  let  the  ball  drive  through  a  win- 
dow by  mistake." 

A  laugh  went  up  at  this.  Dave,  instead  of 
losing  his  nerve,  flashed  back  at  the  squad,  then 
steadied  himself. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     103 

"Now,  then,  let  her  drive — not  too  hard,"  or- 
dered Mr.  Luce. 

Dave  let  go  with  what  he  thought  was  an  out- 
curve.  It  didn't  fool  the  coach.  He  deliber- 
ately struck  the  ball,  sending  it  rolling  along  the 
floor  as  a  grounder. 

"A  little  more  twist  to  the  wrist,  Darrin," 
counseled  the  coach,  after  a  scout  from  the 
squad  had  picked  up  the  ball  and  sent  it  to  this 
budding  pitcher. 

Dave's  next  delivery  was  struck  down  as 
easily.  Then  Darrin  began  to  grow  a  bit  an- 
gry and  much  more  determined. 

"Don't  feel  put  out,  Darrin,"  counseled 
the  coach.  "I  had  the  batting  record  of  my 
college  when  I  was  there,  and  I'm  in  better  trim 
and  nerve  than  you  are  yet.  Don't  be  dis- 
couraged." 

Soon  Dave  was  making  a  rather  decent  show- 
ing. 

"I'll  show  you  later,  Darrin,  a  little  more 
about  the  way  to  turn  the  hand  in  the  wrist 
twist,"  remarked  the  coach,  as  he  let  Dave  go. 
"You'll  soon  have  the  hang  of  the  thing.  Now, 
Prescott,  you  step  into  the  imaginary  box,  if 
you  please." 

Dick  took  to  an  inshoot.  His  first  serve  was 
as  easily  clouted  as  Dave's  had  been.  After 
that,  by  putting  on  a  little  more  steam,  and 


104     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

throwing  in  a  good  deal  more  calculation,  Dick 
got  three  successive  balls  by  Mr.  Luce.  At  two 
of  these,  coach  had  struck. 

"You're  going  to  do  first-rate,  Prescott,  by 
the  time  we  get  outdoors,  I  think,'*  Mr.  Luce 
announced.  "I  shall  pay  particular  attention 
to  your  wrist  work. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  I  showed  up  like  a  lout,"  whis- 
pered Dave,  as  Dick  rejoined  his  chums. 

"No,  you  didn't,"  Dick  retorted.  "You 
showed  what  all  of  us  show — that  you  need 
training  to  get  into  good  shape.  That's  what 
the  coach  is  working  with  us  for." 

"I'm  betting  on  you  and  Dick  for  the  team," 
put  in  Tom  Keade,  quickly. 

' '  Dick  will  make  it,  and  I  think  you  will,  too, 
Dave,"  added  Harry  Hazelton. 

"I  wish  I  were  as  sure  for  myself,"  mut- 
tered Greg  Holmes,  plaintively. 

' '  Oh,  well,  if  I  can 't  make  the  team, ' '  grinned 
Dan  Dalzell,  "I'm  going  to  stop  this  work  and 
go  in  training  as  a  mascot." 

"Look  at  the  fellow  who  always  carries  Luck 
in  his  pocket! "gibed  Hazelton,  good-humoredly. 

Coach  Luce  was  now  calling  off  several  names 
rapidly.  These  young  men  were  directed  to 
scatter  on  the  gym.  floor.  To  one  of  them  Mr. 
Luce  tossed  the  ball. 

"Now,  then,"  shot  out  Luce's  voice,  "this 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     105 

is  for  quick  understanding  and  judgment.  Who- 
ever receives  the  ball  will  throw  it  without  de- 
lay to  anyone  I  name.  So  post  yourselves  on 
where  each  other  man  stands.  I  want  fast 
work,  and  I  want  straight,  accurate  work.  But 
no  amount  of  speed  will  avail,  unless  the  accu- 
racy is  there.  And — vice  versa!" 

For  five  minutes  this  was  kept  up,  with  a 
steam  engine  idea  of  rapidity  of  motion.  Many 
were  the  fumbles.  A  good  deal  of  laughter  came 
from  the  sides  of  the  gym. 

" Myself!"  shouted  Luce,  just  as  one  of  the 
players  received  the  ball.  The  young  man  with 
the  ball  looked  puzzled  for  an  instant.  Then, 
when  too  late  to  count,  the  young  man  under- 
stood and  drove  the  ball  for  the  coach. 

"Not  quick  enough  on  judgment,"  admon- 
ished Mr.  Luce.  "Now,  we'll  take  another  look 
at  the  style  of  an  ambitious  pitcher  or  two.  Rip- 
ley,  suppose  you  try?" 

Fred  started  and  colored.  Next,  he  looked 
pleased  with  himself  as  he  strode  jauntily  for- 
ward. 

"May  I  ask  for  my  own  catcher,  sir?"  Fred 
asked. 

"Yes;  certainly,"  nodded  the  coach. 

"Rip  must  have  something  big  up  his  sleeve, 
if  any  old  dub  of  a  catcher  won't  do,"  jeered 
some  one  at  the  back  of  the  crowd. 


106     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

> 

"Attention!  Rip,  the  ladylike  twirler!" 
sang  out  another  teasing  student. 

"Let  her  rip,  Rip!" 

A  good  many  were  laughing.  Fred  was  not 
popular.  Many  tolerated  him,  and  some  of  the 
boys  treated  him  with  a  fair  amount  of  comrade- 
ship. Yet  the  lawyer's  son  was  no  prime  fa- 
vorite. 

"Order!"  rapped  out  the  coach,  sharply. 
*  *  This  is  training  work.  You  '11  find  the  minstrel 
show,  if  that's  what  you  want,  at  the  opera 
house  next  Thursday  night." 

"How  well  the  coach  keeps  track  of  minstrel 
shows ! ' '  called  another  gibing  voice. 

1 '  That  was  you,  Parkinson ! ' '  called  Mr.  Luce, 
with  mock  severity.  "Run  over  and  harden 
your  funny-bone  on  the  punching  bag.  Run 
along  with  you,  now!" 

Everybody  laughed,  except  Parkinson,  who 
grinned  sheepishly. 

"Training  orders,  Parkinson!"  insisted  the 
coach.  "Trot  right  over  and  let  the  funny-bone 
of  each  arm  drive  at  the  bag  for  twenty-five 
times.  Hurry  up.  We'll  watch  you." 

So  Mr.  Parkinson,  of  the  junior  class,  seeing 
that  the  order  was  a  positive  one,  had  the  good 
sense  to  obey.  He  "hardened"  the  funny-bone 
of  either  arm  against  the  punching  bag  to  the 
tone  of  jeering  laughter  from  the  rest  of  the 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     107 

squad.  That  was  Coach  Luce's  way  of  dealing 
with  the  too-funny  amateur  humorist. 

Fred,  meantime,  had  selected  his  own  catcher, 
and  had  whispered  some  words  of  instruction  to 
him. 

"Now,  come  on,  Bipley,"  ordered  Mr.  Luce, 
swinging  his  bat  over  an  imaginary  plate.  1 1  Let 
her  come  in  about  as  you  want  to." 

"He's  going  to  try  a  spit  ball,"  muttered  sev- 
eral, as  they  saw  Fred  moisten  his  fingers. 

"That's  a  hard  one  for  a  greenhorn  to  put 
over,"  added  another. 

Fred  took  his  place  with  a  rather  confident 
air;  he  had  been  drilling  at  Duxbridge  for  some 
weeks  now. 

Then,  with  a  turn  of  his  body,  Eipley  let  the 
ball  go  off  of  his  finger  tips.  Straight  and 
rather  slowly  it  went  toward  the  plate.  It 
looked  like  the  easiest  ball  that  had  been  sent 
in  so  far.  Coach  Luce,  with  a  calculating  eye, 
watched  it  come,  moving  his  bat  ever  so  little. 
Then  he  struck.  But  the  spit  ball,  having 
traveled  to  the  hitting  point,  dropped  nearly 
twenty  inches.  The  bat  fanned  air,  and  the 
catcher,  crouching  just  behind  the  coach,  gath- 
ered in  the  ball. 

Luce  was  anything  but  mortified.  A  gleam 
of  exultation  lit  up  his  eyes  as  he  swung  the 
bat  exultantly  over  his  head.  In  a  swift  out- 


108     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

bnrst  of  old  college  enthusiam  he  forgot  most 
of  his  dignity  as  a  submaster. 

"  Wow!"  yelled  the  coach.  "That  was  a  bird! 
A!  lulu-cooler  and  a  scalp-taker!  Ripley,  I 
reckon  you're  the  new  cop  that  runs  the  beat!" 

It  took  the  High  School  onlookers  a  few  sec- 
onds to  gather  the  full  importance  of  what  they 
had  seen.  Then  a  wild  cheer  broke  loose : 

"Ripley?  Oh,  Ripley '11  pitch  for  the  nine!" 
surged  up  on  all  sides. 


CHAPTER  X 

DICK  &  CO.  TAKE  A  TURN  AT  FEELING  GLUM 

"•flT  THAT'S    the    matter    with    Ripley!" 

\\       yelled  one  senior. 

And  another  answered,  hoarsely: 

"Nothing!    He's  a  wonder!" 

Fred  Ripley  was  unpopular.  He  was  regarded 
as  a  cad  and  a  sneak.  But  he  could  pitch  ball! 
He  could  give  great  aid  in  bringing  an  unbroken 
line  of  victories  to  Gridley.  That  was  enough. 

By  now  Coach  Luce  was  a  bit  red  in  the  face. 
He  realized  that  his  momentary  relapse  into 
the  old  college  enthusiasm  had  made  him  look 
ridiculous,  in  his  other  guise  of  High  School 
submaster. 

But  when  the  submaster  coach  turned  and 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     109 

saw  Parkinson  butting  his  head  against  the 
punching  bag  he  called  out: 

"What's  the  matter,  Parkinson?" 

"Subbing  for  you,  sir!" 

That  turned  the  good-natured  laugh  of  a  few 
on  Mr.  Luce.  Most  of  those  present,  however, 
had  not  been  struck  by  the  unusualness  of  his 
speech. 

Dick  and  Dave  looked  hard  at  each  other. 
Both  boys  wanted  to  make  the  team  as  pitchers. 
Yet  now  it  seemed  most  certain  that  Fred  Rip- 
ley  must  stand  out  head  and  shoulders  over  any 
other  candidates  for  the  Gridley  box. 

Dick's  face  shone  with  enthusiasm,  none  the 
less.  If  he  couldn't  make  the  nine  this  year, 
he  could  at  least  feel  that  Gridley  High  School 
was  already  well  on  toward  the  lead  over  all 
competing  school  nines. 

"I  wish  it  were  somebody  else,"  muttered 
Dave,  huskily,  in  his  chum's  ear. 

"Gridley  is  fixed  for  lead,  anyway,"  replied 
Dick,  '  *  if  Ripley  can  always  keep  in  such  form 
as  that." 

"Can  Ripley  do  it  again?"  shouted  one  Grid- 
ley  senior. 

"Try  it,  and  see,  Ripley,"  urged  Mr.  Luce, 
again  swinging  his  bat. 

Fred  had  been  holding  the  returned  ball  for 
a  minute  or  two.  His  face  was  flushed,  his  eyes 


110     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

glowing.  Never  before  had  lie  made  such  a  hit 
among  his  schoolmates.  It  was  sweet,  at  last, 
to  taste  the  pleasures  of  local  fame. 

He  stood  gazing  about  him,  drinking  in  the 
evident  delight  of  the  High  School  boys.  In  fact 
he  did  not  hear  the  coach's  order  until  it  came 
again. 

"Try  another  one,  Ripley!" 

The  young  man  moistened  his  fingers,  placing 
the  ball  carefully.  Of  a  sudden  his  arm  shot 
out.  Again  the  coach  struck  for  what  looked  a 
fair  ball,  yet  once  more  Mr.  Luce  fanned  air 
and  the  catcher  straightened  up,  ball  in  hand. 

Pumph!  The  lazily  thrown  ball  landed  in 
Ripley 's  outstretched  left.  He  moistened  his 
fingers,  wet  the  ball,  and  let  drive  almost  in- 
stantly. For  the  third  time  Mr.  Luce  fanned 
out. 

Then  Fred  spoke,  in  a  tone  of  satisfied  self- 
importance: 

"Coach,  that's  all  I'll  do  this  afternoon,  if 
you  don't  mind." 

' '  Right, ' '  nodded  Mr.  Luce.  ' '  You  don 't  want 
to  strain  your  work  before  you've  really  begun 
it.  Any  other  candidates  for  pitching  want  to 
have  a  try  now?" 

As  the  boys  of  the  squad  waited  for  an  an- 
Bwer,  a  low  laugh  began  to  ripple  around  the 
gym.  The  very  idea  of  any  fellow  trying  after. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     111 

Bipley  had  made  his  wonderful  showing  was 
wholly  funny! 

Coach  Luce  called  out  the  names  of  another 
small  squad  to  scatter  over  the  gym.  and  to 
throw  the  ball  to  anyone  he  named.  Except 
for  the  few  who  were  in  this  forced  work,  no 
attention  was  paid  to  the  players. 

Fred  Eipley  had  walked  complacently  to  one 
side  of  the  gym.  A  noisy,  gleeful  group  formed 
around  him. 

"Rip,  where  did  you  ever  learn  that  great 
work?" 

"Who  taught  you?" 

"Say,  how  long  have  you  been  hiding  that 
thousand-candle-power  light  under  a  bushel?" 

"Rip,  it  was  the  greatest  work  I  ever  saw  a 
boy  do." 

"Will  you  show  me — after  the  nine  has  been 
made  up,  of  course?" 

"How  did  you  ever  get  it  down  so  slick?" 

This  was  all  meat  to  the  boy  who  had  long 
been  unpopular. 

"I  always  was  a  pretty  fair  pitcher,  wasn't 
1?"  asked  Fred. 

"Yes;  but  never  anything  like  the  pitcher 
you  showed  us  to-day,"  glowed  eager  Parkin- 
son. 

"I've  been  doing  a  good  deal  of  practicing 
and  study  since  the  close  of  last  season,"  Fred 


112     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

replied  importantly.  "I've  studied  out  a  lot 
of  new  things.  I  shan't  show  them  all,  either, 
until  the  real  season  begins. ' ' 

,  Fred's  glance,  in  roaming  around,  took  in 
Dick  &  Co.  For  once,  these  six  very  popular 
sophomores  had  no  one  else  around  them. 

"Whew!  I  think  I've  taken  some  wind  out 
of  the  sails  of  Mr.  Self-satisfied  Prescott, ' '  Fred 
told  himself  jubilantly.  "We  shan't  hear  so 
much  about  Dick  &  Co.  for  a  few  months ! ' ' 

"Well,  anyway,  Dick,"  said  Tom  Reade, 
"you  and  Dave  needn't  feel  too  badly.  If  Rip- 
ley  turns  out  to  be  the  nine's  crack  pitcher,  the 
nine  also  carries  two  relief  pitchers.  You  and 
Dave  have  a  chance  to  be  the  relief  pitchers. 
That  will  make  the  nine  for  you  both,  anyway. 
But,  then,  that  spitball  may  be  the  only  thing 
Ripley  knows." 

"Don't  fool  yourself,"  returned  Prescott, 
shaking  his  head.  "If  Ripley  can  do  that  one 
so  much  like  a  veteran,  then  he  knows  other 
styles  of  tossing,  too.  I'm  glad  for  Gridley 
High  School — mighty  glad.  I  wouldn't  mind 
on  personal  grounds,  either,  if  only — if " 

"If  Fred  Ripley  were  only  a  half  decent  fel- 
low, ' '  Harry  Hazelton  finished  for  him. 

Coach  Luce  soon  dismissed  the  squad  for  the 
day.  A  few  minutes  later  the  boys  left  the  gym. 
in  groups.  Of  course  the  pitching  they  had  seen 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     113 

was  the  sole  theme.  Ripley  didn't  have  to  walk 
away  alone  to-day.  Coach  Luce  and  a  dozen  of 
the  boys  stepped  along  with  him  in  great  glee. 

"It's  Rip!  Old  Rip  will  be  the  most  talked 
about  fellow  in  any  High  School  league  this 
year,"  Parkinson  declared,  enthusiastically. 

Even  the  fellows  who  actually  despised  Fred 
couldn't  help  their  jubilation.  Gridley  was 
strong  in  athletics  just  because  of  the  real  old 
Gridley  High  School  spirit.  Gridley 's  boys 
always  played  to  win.  They  made  heroes  of 
the  fellows  who  could  lead  them  to  victory  after 
victory. 

Fred  was  far  on  his  way  home  ere  the  last 
boy  had  left  him. 

"I'll  get  everything  in  sight  now,"  Ripley 
told  himself,  in  ecstasy,  as  he  turned  in  at  the 
gateway  to  his  home.  'Why,  even  if  Prescott 
does  get  into  the  relief  box,  /  can  decide  when 
he  shall  or  shall  not  pitch.  I'll  never  see  him 
get  a  big  game  to  pitch  in.  Oh,  but  this  blow 
to-day  has  hurt  Dick  Prescott  worse  than  a  blow 
over  the  head  with  an  iron  stake  could.  I've 
wiped  him  up  and  put  him  down  again.  I've 
made  him  feel  sick  and  ashamed  of  his  puny 
little  inshoot !  Prescott,  you  're  mine  to  do  as  I 
please  with  on  this  year's  nine — if  you  can  make 
it  at  all!" 

In  truth,  though  young  Prescott  kept  a  smil- 

*—  The  High  School  Pitcher. 


ing  face,  and  talked  cheerily,  he  could  hardly 
have  been  more  cast  down  than  he  was.  Dick 
always  went  into  any  sport  to  win  and  lead, 
and  he  had  set  his  heart  on  being  Gridley's  best 
man  in  the  box.  But  now 

Dick  &  Co.  all  felt  that  they  needed  the  open 
air  after  the  grilling  and  the  surprise  at  the 
gym.  So  they  strolled,  together,  on  Main 
Street,  for  nearly  an  hour  ere  they  parted  and 
went  home  to  supper. 

The  next  day  the  talk  at  school  was  mostly 
about  Ripley,  or  "Rip,"  as  he  was  now  more 
intimately  called. 

Even  the  girls  took  more  notice  of  him. 
Formerly  Fred  hadn't  been  widely  popular 
among  them.  But  now,  as  the  coming  star  of 
the  High  School  nine,  and  a  new  wonder  in  the 
school  firmament,  he  had  a  new  interest  for 
them. 

Half  the  girls,  or  more,  were  "sincere  fans'* 
at  the  ball  games.  Baseball  was  so  much  of  a 
craze  among  them  that  these  girls  didn't  have 
to  ask  about  the  points  of  the  game.  They 
knew  the  diamond  and  most  of  its  rules. 

Incense  was  sweet  to  the  boy  to  whom  it  had 
so  long  been  denied,  but  of  course  it  turned 
"Rip's"  head. 


!TKE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHES     115 
CHAPTER  XI 

THE   THIBD   PARTY'S   AMAZEMENT 

ELEVEN  o'clock  pealed  out  from  the 
steeple  of  the  nearest  church.  The 
night  was  dark.  Rain  or  snow  was  in 
the  air. 

In  a  shadow  across  the  street  hung  Tip  Scam- 
mon.  His  shabby  cap  was  pulled  down  over  his 
eyes,  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  the  pockets  of 
his  ragged  reefer.  Tip's  eyes  were  turned 
toward  the  Ripley  home  opposite. 

"To  think  o'  that  feller  in  a  fine,  warm,  soft 
bed  nights,  an'  all  the  swell  stuff  to  eat  at 
table!"  muttered  Tip,  enviously.  "And  then 
me,  out  in  the  cold,  wearing  a  tramp's  clothes! 
Never  sure  whether  to-morrer  has  a  meal  comin ' 
with  it!  But,  anyway,  I  can  make  that  Eipley 
kid  dance  when  I  pull  the  string!  He  dances 
pretty  tolerable  frequent,  too!  He's  got  to  do 
it  to-night,  an'  he'd  better  hurry  up  some!" 

Soon  after  the  sound  of  the  striking  clock  had 
died  away,  Tip's  keen  eyes  saw  a  figure  steal 
around  one  side  of  the  house  from  the  rear. 

"Here  comes  Rip,  now.  He's  on  time," 
thought  Tip.  "Huh!  It's  a  pity— fer  him— - 
that  he  wouldn  't  take  a  new  think  an '  chase  me. 
But  he's  like  most  pups  that  hire  other  folks 


116     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

to  do  their  tough  work — they  hain't  got  no 
nerve  o'  their  own." 

Fred  came  stealthily  out  of  the  yard,  after 
looking  hack  at  the  house.  He  went  straight  up 
to  young  Scammon. 

"So  here  ye  are,  pal,"  laughed  Tip.  "Glad 
ye  didn't  keep  me  waitin'.  Ye  brought  the 
wherewithal  ? ' ' 

"See  here,  Tip,  you  scoundrel,"  muttered 
Fred,  hoarsely,  a  worried  look  showing  in  his 
eyes,  "I'm  getting  plumb  down  to  the  bottom 
of  anything  I  can  get  for  you." 

"I  told  ye  to  bring  twenty,"  retorted  young 
Scammon,  abruptly.  ' '  That  will  be  enough. ' ' 

"I  couldn't  get  it,"  muttered  Fred. 

"Now,  see  here,  pal,"  warned  Tip,  threaten- 
ingly, "don't  try  to  pull  no  roots  on  me.  Ye 
can  get  all  the  money  ye  want." 

"I  couldn't  this  time,"  Fred  contended,  stub- 
bornly. "I've  got  eleven  dollars,  and  that's 
every  bit  I  could  get  my  hands  on. ' ' 

*  *  But  I  've  got  to  have  twenty, ' '  muttered  Tip, 
fiercely.  "Now,  ye  trot  back  and  look  through 
yer  Sunday-best  suit.  You  have  money  enough; 
yer  father's  rich,  an'  he  gives  ye  a  lot.  Now, 
ye've  no  business  spendin'  any  o'  that  money 
until  ye've  paid  me  what's  proper  comin*  to 
me.  So  back  to  the  house  with  ye,  and  get  the 
rest  o '  yer  money ! ' ' 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     117 

"It's  no  use,  Tip.  I  simply  can't  get  another 
dollar.  Here's  the  eleven,  and  you'd  better  be 
off  with  it.  I  can't  get  any  more,  either,  inside 
of  a  fortnight." 

"See  here,"  raged  young  Scammon,  "if  ye 
think  ye  can  play " 

"Take  this  money  and  get  off,"  demanded 
Fred,  impatiently.  "I'm  going  back  home  and 
to  bed." 

"I  guess,  boy,  it's  about  time  fer  me  to  see 
your  old  man,"  blustered  Tip.  "If  I  hold  off 
until  to-morrer  afternoon,  will  ye  have  the  other 
nine,  an'  an  extry  dollar  fer  me  trouble?" 

"No,"  rasped  Fred.  "It's  no  use  at  all — not 
for  another  fortnight,  anyway.  Good  night!" 

Turning,  Fred  sped  across  the  street  and  back 
under  the  shadows  at  the  rear  of  the  lawyer's 
great  house. 

"I  wonder  if  the  younker's  gettin'  wise?" 
murmured  Tip.  "He  ain't  smart  enough  to 
know  that  fer  him  to  go  to  his  old  man  an' 
tell  the  whole  yarn  'ud  be  cheapest  in  the  run. 
The  old  man  'ud  be  mad  at  Rip,  but  the  old 
man's  a  lawyer,  an'  'ud  know  how  to  lay  down 
the  blackmail  law  to  me!" 

Feeling  certain  that  he  was  wholly  alone  by 
this  time,  Tip  had  spoken  the  words  aloud — . 
or  sufficiently  so  for  him  to  be  heard  a  few  feet 
away  by  any  lurker. 


118     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Shivering  a  bit,  for  he  was  none  too  warmly 
clad,  young  Scammon  turned,  making  his  way 
up  the  street. 

Fully  two  minutes  after  Tip  had  gone  his 
way  Dick  Preseott  stepped  out  from  behind  the 
place  where  Tip  had  been  standing. 

There  was  a  queer  and  rather  puzzled  look  on 
Dick's  face. 

"So  Fred's  paying  Tip  money,  and  Tip  knows 
it's  blackmail?"  muttered  the  sophomore. 
"That  can  mean  just  one  thing  then.  "When 
Tip  held  his  tongue  before  and  at  his  trial,  last 
year,  he  was  looking  ahead  to  the  time  when  he 
could  extort  money  by  threatening  Fred.  And 
now  Tip's  doing  it.  That  must  be  the  way 
he  gets  his  living.  Whew,  but  Eipley  must  be 
allowed  a  heap  of  spending  money  if  he  can 
stand  that  sort  of  drain!" 

How  Dick  came  to  be  on  hand  at  the  time 
can  be  easily  explained.  Earlier  in  the  evening 
he  had  been  at ' '  The  Blade ' '  office.  Mr.  PoUock 
had  asked  him  to  go  out  on  a  news  story  that 
could  be  obtained  by  calling  upon  a  citizen  at 
his  home.  The  story  would  be  longer  than 
Dick  usually  succeeded  in  turning  in.  It  looked 
attractive  to  a  boy  who  wanted  to  earn  money, 
so  the  sophomore  eagerly  accepted  the  assign- 
ment. 

As  it  happened,  Dick  had  had  to  wait  a  long 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     119 

time  at  the  house  at  which  he  called  before  the 
man  he  wanted  to  see  returned  home.  Dick 
was  on  his  way  to  "The  Blade"  office  when  he 
caught  sight  of  Tip  Scammon.  The  latter  did 
not  see  or  hear  the  sophomore  approaching. 

So  Dick  halted,  darting  behind  a  tree. 

4 'Now,  what's  Tip  doing  down  here,  near 
the  Bipley  place?"  wondered  Prescott.  "He 
must  be  waiting  to  see  Fred.  Then  they  must 
have  an  appointment.  Dave  always  thought 
that  Tip  ambushed  me  with  those  brickbats  at 
Fred  Eipley's  order.  There  may  be  something 
of  that  sort  in  the  wind  again.  I  guess  I've  got 
a  right  to  listen." 

Looking  about  him,  Prescott  saw  a  chance 
to  slip  into  a  yard,  get  over  a  fence,  and  creep 
up  rather  close  to  Scammon,  though  still  being 
hidden  from  that  scoundrel.  At  last  Prescott 
found  himself  well  hidden  in  the  yard  behind 
Tip. 

So  Dick  heard  the  talk.  Now,  as  he  hurried 
back  to  "The  Blade"  office  the  young  soph 
guessed  shrewdly  at  the  meaning  of  what  he 
had  heard. 

"Now,  what  had  I  better  do  about  it?"  DicK 
Prescott  asked  himself.  "What's  the  fair  and 
honorable  thing  to  do — keep  quiet?  It  would 
seem  a  bit  sneaky  to  go  and  tell  Lawyer  Eipley. 
Shall  I  tell  Fred?  I  wonder  if  I  could  make 


120     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

him  understand  how  foolish  and  cowardly  it  is 
to  go  on  paying  for  a  blackmailer's  silence T 
Yet  it's  ten  to  one  that  Fred  wouldn't  thank 
me.  Oh,  bother  it,  what  had  a  fellow  better  do 
in  a  case  like  this!" 

A  moment  later,  Dick  laughed  dryly. 

"I  know  one  thing  I  could  do.  I  could  go 
to  Fred,  tell  him  what  I  know,  and  scare  him 
BO  he'd  fall  down  in  his  effort  to  become  the 
crack  pitcher  of  the  nine !  My,  but  he  'd  go  all 
to  pieces  if  he  thought  7  knew  and  could  tell  on 
him!" 

Dick  chuckled,  then  his  face  sobered,  as  he 
added : 

"Fred's  safe  from  that  trick,  though.  I 
couldn't  stand  a  glimpse  of  my  own  face  in  the 
mirror,  afterward,  if  I  did  such  a  low  piece  of 
business." 

Prescott  was  still  revolving  the  whole  thing 
in  his  mind  when  he  reached  "The  Blade"  office. 
He  turned  in  the  news  story  he  had  been  sent 
for.  As  he  did  so  the  news  editor  looked  up  to 
remark : 

"We  have  plenty  of  room  to  spare  in  the 
paper  to-night,  Prescott." 

"Yes?    Well?" 

"Can't  you  give  us  a  few  paragraphs  of  real 
High  School  newsT  Something  about  the  state 
©f  athletics  there!" 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     121 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,"  the  young  sophomore 
nodded. 

Returning  to  the  desk  where  he  had  been  sit- 
ting, Dick  ran  off.  a  few  paragraphs  on  the  out- 
look of  the  coming  High  School  baseball  season. 

"Did  you  write  that  High  School  baseball 
stuff  in  this  morning's  paper,  Dick?"  asked 
Tom  Reade,  the  next  day. 

"Yes." 

"You  said  that  the  indications  are  that  Ripley 
will  be  the  crack  pitcher  this  season,  and  that  he 
is  plainly  going  to  be  far  ahead  of  all  the  other 
box  candidates." 

"That's  correct,  isn't  it?"  challenged  Dick. 

"It  looks  so,  of  course,"  Tom  admitted. 
"But  why  did  you  give  Ripley  such  a  boost? 
He's  no  friend  of  yours,  or  ours." 

"Newspapers  are  published  for  the  purpose 
of  giving  information,"  Dick  explained.  "If  a 
newspaper's  writers  all  wrote  just  to  please 
themselves  and  their  friends,  how  many  people 
do  you  suppose  would  buy  the  daily  papers? 
Fred  Ripley  is  the  most  prominent  box  candi- 
date we  have.  He  towers  away  over  the  rest  of 
us.  That  was  why  I  so  stated  it  in  'The  Blade. ' : 

"And  I  guess  that's  the  only  right  way  to  do 
Ithings  when  you're  writing  for  the  papers," 
agreed  Darrin. 

"It's  a  pity  you  can't  print  some  other  things 


122     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

about  Eipley  that  you  know  to  be  true,"  grum- 
bled Hazelton. 

"True,"  agreed  Dick,  thoughtfully.  "I'm 
only  a  green,  amateur  reporter,  but  I've  already 
learned  that  a  reporter  soon  knows  more  than 
he  can  print." 

Prescott  was  thinking  of  the  meeting  he  had 
witnessed,  the  night  before,  between  Fred  and 
Tip. 

After  sleeping  on  the  question  for  the  night, 
Dick  had  decided  that  he  would  say  nothing  of 
the  matter,  for  the  present,  either  to  the  elder 
or  the  younger  Eipley. 

"If  Fred  found  out  that  I  knew  all  about  it, 
he'd  be  sure  that  I  was  biding  my  time,"  was 
what  Dick  had  concluded.  "He'd  be  sure  that 
I  was  only  waiting  for  the  best  chance  to  expose 
him.  On  the  other  hand,  if  I  cautioned  his 
father,  there 'd  be  an  awful  row  at  the  Eipley 
home.  Either  way,  Fred  Eipley  would  go  to 
pieces.  He'd  lose  what  little  nerve  he  ever  had. 
After  that  he'd  be  no  good  at  pitching.  He'd 
go  plumb  to  pieces.  That  might  leave  me  the 
chance  to  be  Gridley's  crack  pitcher  this  year. 
Oh,  I'd  like  to  be  the  leading  pitcher  of  the  High 
School  nine !  But  I  don't  want  to  win  the  honor 
in  any  way  that  I'm  not  positive  is  wholly 
square  and  honorable." 

Then,  after  a  few  moments  more  of  thought: 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     123 

"Besides,  I'm  loyal  to  good  old  Gridley  High 
School.  I  want  to  see  our  nine  have  the  best 
pitcher  it  can  get — no  matter  who  he  is!" 

By  some  it  might  be  argued  that  Dick  Pres- 
cott  was  under  a  moral  obligation  to  go  and 
caution  Lawyer  Eipley.  But  Dick  hated  tale- 
bearers. He  acted  up  to  the  best  promptings 
of  his  own  best  conscience,  which  is  all  any  hon- 
orable man  can  do. 


CHAPTER   XH 

TRYING   OUT   THE   PITCHERS 

"/^VH,  you  Rip!" 

II          Good  boy,  Rip!" 

"You're    the    winning    piece    of 
leather,  Rip!" 

"Get  after  him,  Dick!" 

"Wait  till  you  see  Prescott!" 

"And  don't  you  forget  Dave  Darrin,  either!" 

Late  in  March,  it  was  the  biggest  day  of 
Spring  out  at  the  High  School  Athletic  Field. 

This  field,  the  fruit  of  the  labors  of  the  Alumni 
Association  for  many  years,  was  a  model  one 
even  in  the  best  of  High  School  towns. 

The  field,  some  six  acres  in  extent,  lay  well 
eutside  the  city  proper.  It  was  a  walled  field, 
laid  out  for  football,  baseball,  cricket  and  field 


124     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

and  track  sports.  In  order  that  even  the  High 
School  girls  might  have  a  strong  sense  of  owner- 
ship in  it,  the  field  also  contained  two  croquet 
grounds,  well  laid  out. 

Just  now,  the  whole  crowd  was  gathered  at 
the  sides  of  the  diamond.  Hundreds  were 
perched  up  on  one  of  the  stands  for  spectators. 

Down  on  the  diamond  stood  the  members  of 
the  baseball  squad.  As  far  as  the  onlookers 
could  see,  every  one  of  the  forty-odd  young  men 
was  in  the  pink  of  physical  condition.  The  in- 
door training  had  been  hard  from  the  outset. 
Weeks  of  cage  work  had  been  gone  through  with 
in  the  gym.  But  from  this  day  on,  whenever  it 
didn't  rain  too  hard,  the  baseball  training  work 
was  to  take  place  on  the  field. 

Coach  Luce  now  stepped  out  of  the  little  build- 
ing in  which  were  the  team  dressing  rooms.  As 
he  went  across  the  diamond  he  was  followed  by 
lusty  cheers  from  High  School  boys  up  on  the 
spectators'  seats.  The  girls  clapped  their 
hands,  or  waved  handkerchiefs.  A  few  already 
carried  the  gold  and  crimson  banners  of  Grid- 
ley.  Besides  the  High  School  young  people, 
there  were  a  few  hundred  older  people,  who  had 
come  out  to  see  what  the  youngsters  were  doing. 

For  this  was  the  day  on  which  the  pitchers 
were  to  be  tried  out.  Ripley  was  known  to  be 
the  favorite  in  all  the  guessing.  In  fact,  there 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     125 

wasnrt  any  guessing.  Some,  however,  believed 
that  Dick,  and  possibly;  Dave,  might  be  chosen 
as  the  relief  pitchers. 

Dick  himself  looked  mighty  solemn,  as  he 
stood  by,  apparently  seeing  but  little  of  what 
was  going  on.  Beside  him  stood  Dave.  The 
other  four  chums  were  not  far  off. 

Another  wild  howl  went  up  from  the  High 
School  contingent  when  two  more  men  were  seen 
to  leave  the  dressing  room  building  and  walk  out 
toward  Coach  Luce.  These  were  two  members 
of  the  Athletic  Committee,  former  students  at 
Gridley  High  School.  These  two  were  to  aid 
the  coach  in  choosing  the  men  for  the  school 
team.  They  would  also  name  the  members  of 
the  school's  second  team. 

"Now,  we'll  try  you  out  on  pitching,  if  you're 
ready,"  announced  Mr.  Luce,  turning  to  a  mem- 
ber of  the  junior  class.  The  young  fellow 
grinned  half-sheepishly,  but  was  game.  He  ran 
over  to  the  box,  after  nodding  to  the  catcher  he 
had  chosen.  Luce  took  the  bat  and  stood  by  the 
home  plate.  To-day  the  coach  did  not  intend  to 
strike  at  any  of  the  balls,  but  he  and  the  two 
members  of  the  Athletic  Committee  would 
judge,  and  award  marks  to  the  candidates. 

* '  Oh,  we  don 't  want  the  dub !  Trot  out  Eip ! " 
came  a  roaring  chorus. 

Coach  Luce,  however,  from  this  time  on,  paid 


126     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

no  heed  to  the  shouts  or  demands  of  spectators. 

The  candidate  for  box  honors  now  displayed 
all  he  knew  about  pitching,  though  some  nerv- 
ousness doubtless  marred  his  performance. 

"Now,  run  out  Rip!"  came  the  insistent 
chorus  again,  after  this  candidate  had  shown  his 
curves  and  had  gone  back. 

But  it  was  another  member  of  the  junior  class 
who  came  to  the  box  for  the  next  trial. 

"Dead  ball!  Throw  wild  and  cut  it  short!" 
came  the  advice  from  the  seats. 

Then  a  sophomore  was  tried  out.  But  the 
crowd  was  becoming  highly  impatient. 

"We  want  Rip!  "We  demand  Rip.  Give  us 
Rip  or  give  us  chloroform!"  came  the  insistent 
clamor.  "We'll  come  another  day  to  see  the 
dead  ones,  if  you  insist." 

Coach  Luce  looked  over  at  Fred,  and  nodded. 
The  tumultuous  cheering  lasted  two  full  min- 
utes, for  Gridley  was  always  as  strong  on  fans 
as  it  wanted  to  be  on  players. 

Fred  Ripley  was  flushed  but  proud.  He  tried 
to  hold  himself  jauntily,  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence, as  he  stood  with  the  ball  clasped  in  both 
hands,  awaiting  the  signal. 

Ripley  felt  that  he  could  afford  to  be  satisfied 
with  himself.  The  advance  consciousness  of 
victory  thrilled  him.  He  had  worked  rather 
hard  with  Everett ;  and,  though  the  great  pitcher 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHES     127 

had  not  succeeded  in  bringing  out  all  that  he  had 
hoped  to  do  with  the  boy,  yet  Everett  had 
praised  him  only  yesterday.  One  reason  why 
Fred  had  not  absolutely  suited  his  trainer  was 
that  the  boy  had  broken  his  training  pledge  by 
taking  up  with  coffee.  For  that  reason  his 
nerves  were  not  in  the  best  possible  shape.  Yet 
they  didn't  need  to  be  in  order  to  beat  such  awk- 
ward, rural  pitchers  as  Prescott  or  Darrin. 

For  a  while  Coach  Luce  waited  for  the  cheer- 
ing for  Bipley  to  die  down.  Then  he  raised 
his  bat  as  a  signal.  Fred  sent  in  his  favorite 
spit-ball.  To  all  who  understood  the  game,  it 
was  clear  that  the  ball  had  not  been  well  deliv- 
ered. The  crowd  on  the  seats  stopped  cheering 
to  look  on  in  some  concern. 

'  *  Brace,  Ripley !  You  can  beat  that, ' '  warned 
the  coach,  in  a  low  tone. 

Fred  did  better  the  second  time.  The  third 
ball  was  nearly  up  to  his  form;  the  fourth, 
wholly  so.  Now,  Fred  sent  in  two  more  spit- 
balls,  then  changed  to  other  styles.  He  was 
pitching  famously,  now. 

"That's  all,  unless  you  wish  more,  sir,"  an- 
nounced Fred,  finally,  when  the  ball  came  back 
to  him. 

"It's  enough.  Magnificently  done,"  called 
Coach  Luce,  after  a  glance  at  the  two  members 
of  the  Athletic  Committee. 


128     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHES 

"Oh,  you  Rip!" 

" Good  old  Rip!" 

The  cheering  commenced  again,  swelling  in 
volume. 

Coach  Luce  signaled  to  Dick  Prescott,  who, 
coolly,  yet  with  a  somewhat  pallid  face,  came 
forward  to  the  box.  He  removed  the  wrapping 
from  a  new  ball  and  took  his  post. 

The  cheering  stopped  now.  Dick  was  ex- 
tremely well  liked  in  Gridley.  Most  of  the  spec- 
tators felt  sorry  for  this  poor  young  soph,  who 
must  make  a  showing  after  that  phenomenon, 
Ripley. 

"The  first  two  or  three  don't  need  to  count, 
Prescott,"  called  Luce.  "Get  yourself  warmed 
up." 

Fred  stood  at  the  side,  looking  on  with  a  sense 
of  amusement  which,  for  policy's  sake,  he  strove 
to  conceal. 

"Great  Scott!  The  nerve  of  the  fellow!" 
gasped  Ripley,  inwardly,  as  he  saw  Prescott 
moisten  his  fingers.  "He's  going  to  try  the 
spit-ball  after  what  I've  shown!" 

The  silence  grew  deeper,  for  most  of  the  on- 
lookers understood  the  significance  of  Dick's 
moistened  fingers. 

Dick  drove  in,  Tom  Reade  catching.  That 
first  spit-ball  was  not  quite  as  good  as  some  that 
Ripley  had  shown.  But  Fred's  face  went  white. 


Dick  Drove  in,  Tom  Eeade  Catching. 
9—  The  High  School  Pitcher.  129 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     131 

"Where  did  Prescott  get  that  thing?  He's 
been  stealing  from  the  little  he  has  seen  me  do.*' 

A  shout  of  jubilation  went  up  from  a  hundred 
throats  now,  for  Dick  had  just  spun  his  second 
spit-ball  across  the  plate.  It  was  equal  to  any 
that  Eipley  had  shown. 

* '  Confound  the  upstart !  He  Ts  getting  close  to 
me  on  that  style!"  gasped  the  astonished  Eip- 
ley. 

Now,  Dick  held  the  ball  for  a  few  moments, 
rolling  it  over  in  his  hands.  An  instant  later, 
he  unbent.  Then  he  let  drive.  The  ball  went 
slowly  toward  the  plate,  with  flat  trajectory. 

"Wow!"  came  the  sudden  explosion.  It  was 
a  jump-ball,  going  almost  to  the  plate,  then  ris- 
ing instead  of  falling. 

Three  more  of  these  Dick  served,  and  now  the 
cheering  was  the  biggest  of  the  afternoon.  Fred 
Eipley 's  mouth  was  wide  open,  his  breath  com- 
ing jerkily. 

Three  fine  inshoots  followed.  The  hundreds 
on  the  seats  were  standing  up  now.  Then,  to 
rest  his  arm,  Dick,  who  was  wholly  collected, 
and  as  cool  as  a  veteran  under  fire,  served  the 
spectators  with  a  glimpse  of  an  out^curve  that 
was  not  quite  like  any  that  they  had  ever  seen  be- 
fore. This  out-curve  had  a  suspicion  of  the 
jump-ball  about  it. 

Dick  was  pitching  easily,  now.    He  had  got- 


132     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

ten  his  wanning  and  his  nerve,  and  appeared 
to  work  without  conscious  strain. 

"Do  you  want  more,  sir?"  called  Dick,  at 
last. 

"No,"  decided  Coach  Luce.  "You've  done 
enough,  Prescott.  Mr.  Damn!" 

Dave  ran  briskly  to  the  box,  opening  the 
wrappings  on  a  new  ball  as  he  stepped  into  the 
box.  After  the  first  two  balls  Dave's  exhibi- 
tion was  swift,  certain,  fine.  He  had  almost 
reached  Dick  with  his  performance. 

Bipley's  bewildered  astonishment  was  appar- 
ent in  his  face. 

"Thunder,  I'd  no  idea  they  could  do  any- 
thing like  that!"  gasped  Fred  to  himself. 
"They're  very  nearly  as  good  as  I  am.  How  in 
blazes  did  they  ever  get  hold  of  the  wrinkles? 
They  can't  afford  a  man  like  Everett." 

"Any  more  candidates?"  called  Coach  Luce. 
There  weren't.  No  other  fellow  was  going  for- 
ward to  show  himself  after  the  last  three  who 
had  worked  from  the  box. 

There  was  almost  a  dead  silence,  then,  while 
Coach  Luce  and  the  two  members  of  the  Ath- 
letics Committee  conferred  in  whispers.  At  last 
the  coach  stepped  forward. 

"We  have  chosen  the  pitchers!"  he  shouted. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  Mr.  Luce  went  on : 

"The  pitchers  for  the  regular  school  nine  will 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     133 

be  Prescott,  Darrin,  Ripley,  in  the  order 
named." 

"Oh,  you  Dick!" 

"Bang-up  Prescott!" 

"Reliable  old  Darrin!" 

"Ripley— ugh!" 

And  now  the  fierce  cheering  drowned  out  all 
other  cries.  But  Fred  Ripley,  his  face  purple 
with  rage,  darted  forward  before  the  judges. 

"I  protest!"  he  cried. 

"Protests  are  useless,"  replied  Mr.  Luce. 
"The  judges  give  you  four  points  less  than  Dar- 
rin, and  seven  less  than  Prescott.  You've  had 
a  fair  show,  Mr.  Ripley." 

'  *  I  haven 't.  I  'm  better  than  either  of  them ! ' ' 
bawled  Fred,  hoarsely,  for  the  cheering  was  still 
on  and  he  had  to  make  himself  heard. 

"No  use,  Ripley,"  spoke  up  a  member  of  the 
Athletics  Committee.  "You're  third,  and  that's 
good  enough,  for  we  never  before  had  such  a 
pitching  triumvirate." 

"Where  did  these  fellows  ever  learn  to  pitch 
to  beat  me?"  jeered  Fred,  angrily.  "They  had 
no  such  trainer.  Until  he  went  south  with  his 
own  team,  I  was  trained  by " 

Fred  paused  suddenly.  Perhaps  he  had  bet- 
ter not  tell  too  much,  after  all. 

The  din  from  the  seats  had  now  died 
down. 


134     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"Well,  Bipley,  who  trained  you?"  asked  a 
member  of  the  Athletics  Committee. 

Fred  bit  his  lip,  but  Dick  broke  in  quietly : 

"I  can  tell.  Perhaps  a  little  confession  will 
be  good  for  us  all  around.  Bipley  was  trained 
by  Everett  over  at  Duxbridge.  I  found  out 
that  much,  weeks  ago." 

"You  spy!"  hissed  Fred  angrily,  but  Dick, 
not  heeding  his  enemy,  continued: 

' '  The  way  Bipley  started  out,  the  first  showing1 
he  made,  Darrin  and  I  saw  that  we  were  left 
in  the  stable.  Candidly,  we  were  in  despair  of 
doing  anything  real  in  the  box,  after  Bipley 
got  through.  But  I  suppose  all  you  gentlemen 
have  heard  of  Pop  GintT' 

"Gint!  Old  Popf"  demanded  Coach  Luce, 
a  light  glowing  in  his  eyes.  "Well,  I  should  say 
so.  Why,  Pop  Gint  was  the  famous  old  trainer 
who  taught  Everett  and  a  half  dozen  other  of 
our  best  national  pitchers  all  they  first  learned 
about  style.  Pop  Gint  is  the  best  trainer  of 
pitchers  that  ever  was." 

"Pop  Gint  is  an  uncle  of  Mr.  Pollock,  editor 
of  'The  Blade,'  "  Dick  went  on,  smilingly.  "Pop 
Gint  has  retired,  and  won't  teach  for  money, 
any  more.  But  Mr.  Pollock  coaxed  his  uncle  to 
train  Darrin  and  myself.  Bight  faithfully  the 
old  gentleman  did  it,  too.  Why,  Pop  Gint,  to- 
day, is  as  much  of  a  boy " 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     135 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  grated  Fred,  harshly,  turn- 
ing upon  his  rival.  "Mr.  Luce,  I  throw  down 
the  team  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  I  won't  pitch 
as  an  inferior  to  these  two  boobies.  Scratch  my 
name  off." 

"I'll  give  you  a  day  or  two,  Mr.  Kipley,  to 
think  that  over,"  replied  Mr.  Luce,  quietly. 
"Kemember,  Kipley,  you  must  be  a  good  sports- 
man, and  you  should  also  be  loyal  to  your  High 
School.  In  matters  of  loyalty  one  can't  always 
act  on  spite  or  impulse." 

"Humph!"  muttered  Fred,  stalking  away. 

His  keen  disappointment  was  welling  up  in- 
side. With  the  vent  of  speech  the  suffering  of 
the  arrogant  boy  had  become  greater.  Now, 
Fred's  whole  desire  was  to  get  away  by  himself, 
where  he  could  nurse  his  rage  in  secret.  There 
were  no  more  yells  of  "Oh,  you  Eip!"  He  had 
done  some  splendid  pitching,  and  had  made  the 
team,  for  that  matter,  but  he  was  not  to  be  one 
of  the  season's  stars.  This  latter  fact,  added 
to  his  deserved  unpopularity,  filled  his  spirit 
with  gall  as  he  hastened  toward  the  dressing 
rooms.  There  he  quickly  got  into  his  street 
clothes  and  as  hastily  quitted  the  athletic  field. 

Therein  Fred  Ripley  made  a  mistake,  as  he 
generally  did  in  other  things.  In  sport  all  can't 
win.  It  is  more  of  an  art  to  be  a  cheerful,  game 
loser  than  to  bow  to  the  plaudits  of  the  throng. 


136     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"Mr.  Prescott,"  demanded  Coach  Luce,  "how 
long  have  you  been  working  under  Pop  Gint's 
training?" 

"Between  four  and  five  weeks,  sir." 

"And  Darrin  the  same  length  of  time?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  nodded  Dave. 

' '  Then,  unless  you  two  find  something  a  whole 
lot  better  to  do  in  life,  you  could  do  worse  than 
to  keep  in  mind  the  idea  of  trying  for  positions 
on  the  national  teams  when  you're  older." 

"I  think  we  have  something  better  in  view, 
Mr.  Luce,"  Dick  answered  smilingly.  "Eh, 
Dave?" 

"Yes,"  nodded  Darrin  and  speaking  emphat- 
ically. "Athletics  and  sports  are  good  for  what 
they  bring  to  a  fellow  in  the  way  of  health  and 
training.  But  a  fellow  ought  to  use  the  benefits 
as  a  physical  foundation  in  some  other  kind  of 
life  where  he  can  be  more  useful." 

"I  suppose  you  two,  then,  have  it  all  mapped 
out  as  to  what  you're  going  to  do  in  life?" 

"Not  quite,"  Dick  replied.  "But  I  think  I 
know  what  we'd  like  to  do  when  we're  through 
with  our  studies." 

There  were  other  try-outs  that  afternoon,  but 
the  great  interest  was  over.  Gridley  fans  were 
satisfied  that  the  High  School  had  a  pitching  trio 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  beat  anywhere  ex- 
cept on  the  professional  diamond. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     137 

"If  anything  should  happen  to  Prescott  and 
Darrin  just  before  any  of  the  big  games,"  mut- 
tered Ripley,  darkly,  to  himself,  "then  I'd  have 
my  chance,  after  all!  Can't  I  get  my  head  to 
working  and  find  a  way  to  make  something  hap- 
pen?" 


CHAPTER 

THE  EIOT   CALL  AND   OTHER  LITTLE  THINGS 

*'  f^  0  to  your  seat,  Mr.  Bristow!     You're 

1    ~W     acting  like  a  rowdy!" 

Principal  Cantwell  uttered  the  order 
sharply. 

Fully  half  the  student  body  had  gathered 
in  the  big  assembly  room  at  the  High  School. 
It  was  still  five  minutes  before  the  opening  hour, 
and  there  had  been  a  buzz  of  conversation 
through  the  room. 

The  principal's  voice  was  so  loud  that  it  car- 
ried through  the  room.  Almost  at  once  the  buzz 
ceased  as  the  students  turned  to  see  what  was 
happening.  Bristow  had  been  skylarking  a  bit. 
Undoubtedly  he  had  been  more  boisterous  with 
one  of  the  other  fellows  in  the  assembly  room 
than  good  taste  sanctioned. 

Just  as  naturally,  however,  Bristow  resented 
the  style  of  rebuke  from  authority.  The  boy; 
wheeled  about,  glaring  at  the  principal. 


138     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"Go  to  your  seat,  sir!**  thundered  the  prin- 
cipal, his  face  turning  ghastly  white  from  his 
suppressed  rage. 

Bristow  wheeled  once  more,  in  sullen  silence, 
to  go  to  his  seat.  Certainly  he  did  not  move 
fast,  but  he  was  obeying. 

"You  mutinous  young  rascal,  that  won't  do!" 
shot  out  from  the  principal's  lips.  In  another 
instant  Mr.  Cantwell  was  crossing  the  floor 
rapidly  toward  the  slow-moving  offender. 

"Get  to  your  seat  quickly,  or  go  in  pieces!" 
rasped  out  the  angry  principal. 

Seizing  the  boy  from  behind  by  both  shoul- 
ders, Mr.  Cantwell  gave  him  a  violent  push. 
Bristow  tripped,  falling  across  a  desk  and  cut- 
ting a  gash  in  his  forehead. 

In  an  instant  the  boy  was  up  and  wheeled 
about,  blood  dripping  from  the  cut,  but  some- 
thing worse  flashing  in  his  eyes. 

The  principal  was  at  once  terrified.  He  was 
not  naturally  courageous,  but  he  had  a  danger- 
ous temper,  and  he  now  realized  to  what  it  had 
brought  him.  Mr.  Cantwell  was  trying  to  frame 
a  lame  apology  when  an  indignant  voice  cried 
out: 

"Coward!" 

His  face  livid,  the  principal  turned. 

"Who  said  that?"  he  demanded,  at  white 
heat. 


"7  did!"  admitted  Purcell,  promptly. 

Abner  Cantwell  sprang  at  this  second  "of- 
fender." But  Purcell  threw  himself  quickly 
into  an  attitude  of  defence. 

"Keep  your  hands  off  of  me,  Mr.  Cantwell, 
or  I'll  knock  you  down!" 

"Good!" 

"That's  the  talk!" 

The  excited  High  School  boys  came  crowding 
about  the  principal  and  Purcell.  Bristow  was 
swept  back  by  the  surging  throng.  He  had  his 
handkerchief  out,  now,  at  his  forehead. 

"Some  of  you  young  men  seize  Purcell  and 
march  him  to  my  private  office, ' '  commanded  the 
principal,  who  had  lacked  the  courage  to  strike 
at  the  young  fellow  who  stood  waiting  for  him. 

* '  Will  you  fight  Purcell  like  a  man,  if  we  do  ?" 
asked  another  voice. 

"Kun  Cantwell  out!  He  isn't  fit  to  be  here!" 
yelled  another  voice. 

Mr.  Drake,  the  only  submaster  in  the  room 
at  the  time,  was  pushing  his  way  forward. 

"Calmly,  boys,  calmly,"  called  Drake. 
"Don't  do  anything  you'll  be  sorry  for  after- 
wards." 

But  those  who  were  more  hot  headed  were 
still  pressing  forward.  It  looked  as  though  they 
were  trying  to  get  close  enough  to  lay  hands 
on  the  now  trembling  principal. 


140     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Under  the  circumstances,  Mr.  Cantwell  did 
the  very  worst  thing  he  could  have  done.  He 
pushed  three  or  four  boys  aside  and  made  a 
break  across  the  assembly  room.  Once  out  in 
the  corridor,  the  principal  dove  into  his  pri- 
vate office,  turning  the  key  after  him.  Secure, 
now,  and  his  anger  once  more  boiling  up,  Mr. 
Cantwell  rang  his  telephone  bell.  Calling  for 
the  police  station,  he  called  for  Chief  Coy  and 
reported  that  mutiny  and  violence  had  broken 
loose  in  the  High  School. 

"That  seems  almost  incredible,"  replied 
Chief  Coy.  "But  I'll  come  on  the  run  with 
some  of  my  men." 

Several  of  the  fellows  made  a  move  to  fol- 
low the  principal  out  into  the  corridor.  Dick 
Prescott  swung  the  door  shut  and  threw  himself 
against  it.  Dave  Darrin  and  Tom  Reade  rushed 
to  his  support.  The  other  chums  got  to  him  as 
quickly  as  they  could. 

"Nothing  rash,  fellows!"  urged  Dick.  "Re- 
member, we  don't  make  the  laws,  or  execute 
them.  This  business  will  be  settled  more  to 
our  satisfaction  if  we  don't  put  ourselves  in 
the  wrong. ' ' 

"Pull  that  fellow  Prescott  away  from  the 
door!"  called  Fred  Ripley,  anxious  to  start  any 
kind  of  trouble  against  Dick  &  Co.  Submaster 
Drake,  forcing  his  way  through  the  throng, 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHEE     141 

calming  the  hottest-headed  ones,  turned  an  ac- 
cusing look  on  Fred.  The  latter  saw  it  and 
slunk  back  into  the  crowd. 

Bristow,  still  holding  his  handkerchief  to  his 
head,  darted  out  of  the  building. 

Submaster  Morton  and  Luce,  hearing  the 
excitement,  came  up  from  class  rooms  on  the 
ground  floor.  They  entered  by  the  same  door 
through  which  Bristow  had  left. 

Over  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  fearing 
that  a  violent  riot  was  about  to  start,  some 
of  the  girls  began  to  scream.  The  women  teach- 
ers present  hurried  among  the  girls,  quieting 
them  by  reassuring  words. 

"Now,  young  gentlemen,"  called  Mr.  Drake, 
"we'll  consider  all  this  rumpus  done  with.  Dis- 
cipline reigns  and  Gridley's  good  name  must  be 
preserved ! ' ' 

This  brought  a  cheer  from  many,  for  Mr. 
Drake  was  genuinely  respected  by  the  boys  as 
a  good  and  fair-minded  man.  Such  men  as 
Drake,  Morton  or  Luce  could  lead  these  warm- 
hearted boys  anywhere. 

Stepping  quickly  back  to  the  platform,  Drake 
sounded  the  bell.  In  an  instant  there  was  an 
orderly  movement  toward  the  desks.  At  the 
second  bell  all  were  seated. 

"In  the  absence  of  the  principal,"  began  Mr. 
Drake,  "I " 


142     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

A  low-voiced  laugh  started  in  some  quarters 
of  the  room. 

"Silence!"  insisted  Mr.  Drake,  with  dignity. 
"School  has  opened.  I " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  new  note.  Out  in 
the  yard  sounded  the  clanging  of  a  bell,  the 
quick  trot  of  horses'  feet  and  the  roll  of  wheels. 
The  hoys  looked  at  one  another  in  unbelieving 
astonishment. 

Then  heavy  steps  sounded  on  the  stair- 
way. Outside  Mr.  Cantwell's  voice  could  be 
heard : 

"I'll  take  you  inside,  chief!" 

In  came  the  principal,  his  face  now  white  from 
dread  of  what  he  had  done,  instead  of  showing 
the  white-heat  of  passion.  After  him  came 
Chief  Coy  and  three  policemen  in  uniform. 

For  at  least  a  full  half  minute  Chief  Coy 
stood  glancing  around  the  room,  where  every 
student  was  in  his  seat  and  all  was  orderly.  The 
boys  returned  the  chief's  look  with  wondering 
eyes. 

Then  Mr.  Coy  spoke: 

"Where's  your  riot,  principal!  Is  this  what 
you  termed  a  mutiny?" 

Mr.  Cantwell,  who  had  gone  to  his  post  be- 
hind the  desk,  appeared  to  find  difficulty  in  an- 
swering. 

"Humph!"  muttered  the  chief,  and,  turning, 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     143 

strode  from  the  room.  His  three  policemen 
followed. 

Then  there  came  indeed  an  awkward  silence. 

Submaster  Drake  had  abandoned  the  center 
of  the  stage  to  the  principal.  Mr.  Cantwell 
found  himself  at  some  loss  for  words.  But  at 
last  he  began: 

"  Young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen,  I  can- 
not begin  to  tell  you  how  much  I  regret  the  oc- 
currences of  this  morning.  Discipline  is  one 
of  my  greatest  ideals,  and  this  morning's  mu- 
tiny  " 

He  felt  obliged  to  pause  there,  for  an  angry 
murmur  started  on  the  boys'  side,  and  traveled 
over  to  where  the  girls  were  seated. 

"This  morning's  mutiny "  began  the 

principal  again. 

The  murmur  grew  louder.  Mr.  Cantwell 
looked  up,  more  of  fear  than  of  anger  in  his 
eyes.  Mr.  Drake,  who  stood  behind  the  prin- 
cipal, held  up  one  hand  appealingly.  It  was 
that  gesture  which  saved  the  situation  at  that 
critical  moment.  The  boys  thought  that  if  si- 
lence would  please  Mr.  Drake,  then  he  might  have 
it. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  whispered  Drake  in  Cant- 
well's  ear.  "I  wouldn't  harp  on  the  word  mu- 
tiny, sir.  Express  your  regret  for  the  injury 
unintentionally  done  Bristow." 


Mr.  Cantwell  wheeled  abruptly. 

"Who  is  principal  here,  Mr.  Drake?" 

"You  are,  sir.*' 

"Then  be  good  enough  to  let  me  finish  my 
remarks." 

This  dialogue  was  spoken  in  an  undertone, 
but  the  students  guessed  some  inkling  of  its 
substance. 

The  submaster  subsided,  but  Mr.  Cantwell 
couldn't  seem  to  remember,  just  then,  what  he 
wanted  to  say.  So  he  stood  gazing  about  the 
room.  In  doing  this  he  caught  sight  of  the  face 
of  Purcell. 

"Mr.  Purcell!"  called  the  principal. 

That  young  man  rose,  standing  by  his  seat. 

"Mr.  Purcell,  you  made  some  threat  to  me 
a  few  minutes  ago?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  was  that  threat?" 

"I  told  you  that,  if  you  laid  hands  on  me,  I'd 
floor  you." 

"Would  you  have  done  it?" 

"At  the  time,  yes,  sir.  Or  I'd  have  tried 
to  do  so." 

"That  is  all.  The  locker  room  monitor  will 
go  with  you  to  the  basement.  You  may  go  for 
the  day.  When  you  come  to-morrow  morning, 
I  will  let  you  know  what  I  have  decided  in  your 
ease.5 


99 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     145 

Submaster  Drake  bit  his  lips.  This  was  not 
the  way  to  deal  with  a  situation  in  which  the 
principal  had  started  the  trouble.  Mr.  Drake 
wouldn't  have  handled  the  situation  in  this  way, 
nor  would  Dr.  Thornton,  the  former  principal. 

But  Purcell,  with  cheerfulness  murmured, 
"  Very  good,  sir/'  and  left  the  room,  while  many 
approving  glances  followed  him. 

Messrs.  Morton  and  Luce  shuffled  rather  un- 
easily in  their  seats.  Mr.  Cantwell  began  to 
gather  an  idea  that  he  was  making  his  own  bad 
matter  worse,  so  he  changed,  making  an  ad- 
dress in  which  he  touched  but  lightly  upon  the 
incidents  of  the  morning.  He  made  an  urgent 
plea  for  discipline  at  all  times,  and  tried  to  im- 
press upon  the  student  body  the  need  for  abso- 
lute self-control. 

In  view  of  his  own  hasty  temper  that  last 
part  of  the  speech  nearly  provoked  an  uproar 
of  laughter.  Only  respect  for  Mr.  Drake  and 
the  other  submasters  prevented  that.  The 
women  teachers,  or  most  of  them,  too,  the  boys 
were  sure,  sided  with  them  secretly. 

The  first  recitation  period  of  the  morning  was 
going  by  rapidly,  but  Mr.  Cantwell  didn  't  allow 
that  to  interfere  with  his  remarks.  At  last,  how- 
ever, he  called  for  the  belated  singing.  This 
was  in  progress  when  the  door  opened.  Mr. 
Eldridge,  superintendent  of  schools,  entered, 

ZO—  The  High  School  Pitcher. 


146     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

followed  by  Bristow's  father.  That  latter  gen- 
tleman looked  angry. 

"Mr.  Cantwell,  can  you  spare  us  a  few  mo- 
ments in  your  office?"  inquired  Mr.  Eldridge. 

There  was  no  way  out  of  it.  The  principal 
left  with  them.  In  a  few  minutes  there  was  a 
call  for  Mr.  Drake.  Then  two  of  the  women 
teachers  were  sent  for.  Finally,  Dick  Prescott 
and  three  or  four  of  the  other  boys  were  sum- 
moned. On  the  complaint  of  a  very  angry  par- 
ent Superintendent  Eldridge  was  holding  a 
very  thorough  investigation.  Many  statements 
were  asked  for  and  listened  to. 

"I  think  we  have  heard  enough,  haven't  we, 
Mr.  Eldridge?"  asked  the  elder  Bristow,  at  last. 
"Shall  I  state  my  view  of  the  affair  now?" 

"You  may,"  nodded  the  superintendent. 

"It  is  plain  enough  to  me,"  snorted  Mr.  Bris- 
tow, "that  this  principal  hasn't  self-control 
enough  to  be  charged  with  teaching  discipline 
to  a  lot  of  spirited  boys.  His  example  is  bad 
for  them — continually  bad.  However,  that  is 
for  the  Board  of  Education  to  determine.  My 
son  will  not  come  to  school  to-day,  but  he  will 
attend  to-morrow.  As  the  first  step  toward 
righting  to-day's  affair  I  shall  expect  Mr.  Cant- 
well  to  address,  before  the  whole  student  body, 
an  ample  and  satisfactory  apology  to  my  son.  I 
shall  be  present  to  hear  that  apology  myself." 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     147 

11  If  it  is  offered,"  broke  in  Principal  Cant- 
well,  sardonically,  but  Superintendent  Eldridge 
held  up  a  hand  to  check  him. 

"If  you  don't  offer  the  apology,  to-morrow 
morning,  and  do  it  properly,"  retorted  Mr. 
Bristow,  "I  shall  go  to  my  lawyer  and  instruct 
him  to  get  out  a  warrant  charging  you  with 
felonious  assault.  That  is  all  I  have  to  say, 
sir.  Mr.  Eldridge,  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your 
very  prompt  and  kind  help.  Good  morning, 
all!" 

"At  the  close  of  the  session  the  principal 
wishes  to  see  Mr.  Prescott,"  read  Mr.  Cantwell 
from  the  platform  just  before  school  was  dis- 
missed that  afternoon. 

Dick  waited  in  some  curiosity. 

"Mr.  Prescott,  you  write  for  "The  Blade,' 
don't  you?"  asked  Mr.  Cantwell. 

"Sometimes,  sir." 

"Then,  Mr.  Prescott,  please  understand  that 
I  forbid  you  to  write  anything  for  publication 
concerning  this  morning's  happenings." 

Dick  remained  silent. 

"You  will  not,  will  you?" 

"That,  Mr.  Cantwell,  is  a  matter  that  seems 
to  rest  between  the  editor  and  myself." 

"But  I  have  forbidden  it,"  insisted  the  prin- 
cipal, in  surprise. 

"That  is  a  matter,  sir,  about  which  you  will 


148     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

have  to  see  the  editor.  Here  at  school,  Mr, 
Cantwell,  I  am  under  your  orders.  At  "The 
Blade'  office  I  work  under  Mr.  Pollock's  instruc- 
tions. ' ' 

The  principal  looked  as  though  he  were  going 
to  grow  angry.  On  the  whole,  though,  he  felt 
that  he  had  had  enough  of  the  consequences  of 
his  own  wrath  for  one  day.  So  he  swallowed 
hard  and  replied: 

"Very  good,  then,  Mr.  Prescott.  I  shall  hold 
you  responsible  for  anything  you  publish  that 
I  may  consider  harmful  to  me. ' ' 

Dick  did  print  an  account  of  the  trouble  at 
school.  He  confined  himself  to  a  statement  of 
the  facts  that  he  had  observed  with  his  own  eyes. 
Editorially  ''The  Blade"  printed  a  comment  to 
the  effect  that  such  scenes  would  have  been  im- 
possible under  the  much-missed  Dr.  Thornton. 

Mr.  Cantwell  didn't  have  anything  disagree- 
able to  say  to  Dick  Prescott  the  next  morning. 
Purcell  took  up  the  burden  of  his  studies  again 
without  comment.  The  principal  did  apologize 
effectively  to  young  Bristow  before  the  student 
body,  while  the  elder  Bristow  stood  grimly  by. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     149 
CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   STEAM   OF   THE   BATSMAN 

ALL  of  Dick  &  Co.  had  made  the  High 
School  nine,  though  not  all  as  star  play- 
ers in  their  positions. 

Holmes  had  won  out  for  left  field,  and  Hazel- 
ton  for  shortstop.  As  far  as  the  early  outdoor 
practice  showed,  the  latter  was  going  to  be  the 
strongest  man  of  the  school  in  that  important 
position. 

Dalzell  and  Reade  became  first  and  second 
basemen. 

During  the  rest  of  March  practice  proceeded 
briskly.  Six  days  in  every  week  the  youngsters 
worked  hard  at  the  field  in  the  afternoons. 
When  it  rained  they  put  in  their  time  at  the 
gym. 

On  the  second  of  April  Coach  Luce  called  a 
meeting  of  the  baseball  squad  at  the  gym. 

"We're  a  week,  now,  from  our  first  game, 
gentlemen, "  announced  the  coach.  "I  want 
you  all  to  be  in  flawless  condition  from  now  on. 
I  will  put  a  question  to  you,  now,  on  your  honor. 
Has  any  man  broken  training  table?" 

No  one  spoke  or  stirred.  Ripley,  who  had 
gotten  over  the  worst  of  his  sulks,  was  present, 


150     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

but  lie  did  not  admit  any  of  his  many  breaches 
of  the  training  table  diet  that  he  was  pledged 
to  follow  at  home. 

"Has  any  man  used  tobacco  since  training 
began?"  continued  the  coach. 

Again  there  was  silence. 

"I  am  gratified  to  note  that  I  can't  get  a  re- 
sponse to  either  question, "  smiled  Mr.  Luce. 
"This  assures  me  that  every  one  of  you  has  kept 
in  the  strictest  training.  It  will  show  as  soon 
as  you  begin  to  meet  Gridley's  opponents  in  the 
field. 

"Faithful  observance  of  all  training  rules  be- 
speaks a  good  state  of  discipline.  In  all  sports, 
and  in  team  sports  especially,  discipline  is  our 
very  foundation  stone.  Every  man  must  sacri- 
fice himself  and  his  feelings  for  the  good  of 
the  team.  Each  one  of  you  must  forget,  in  all 
baseball  matters,  that  he  is  an  individual.  He 
must  think  of  himself  only  as  a  spoke  in  the 
wheel. 

"During  the  baseball  season  I  want  every  man 
of  you  in  bed  by  nine-thirty.  On  the  night  be- 
fore a  game  turn  in  at  eight-thirty.  Make  up 
your  minds  that  there  shall  be  no  variation  from 
this.  In  the  mornings  I  want  every  man,  when 
it  isn't  raining,  to  go  out  and  jog  along  the 
road,  in  running  shoes  and  sweaters,  for  twenty 
minutes  without  a  break;  for  thirty  minutes,  in- 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     151 

stead,  on  any  morning  when  you  can  spare  the 
time. 

"Whenever  you  can  do  so,  pratice  swift,  short 
sprints.  Many  a  nine,  full  of  otherwise  good 
men,  loses  a  game  or  a  season's  record  just  be- 
cause this  important  matter  of  speedy  base  run- 
ning has  been  neglected. 

"Not  only  this,  but  I  want  every  one  of  you 
to  be  careful  about  the  method  of  sprinting. 
The  man  who  runs  flat-footedly  is  using  up 
steam  and  endurance.  Eun  balanced  well  for- 
ward on  the  balls  of  your  feet.  Throw  your 
heels  up;  travel  as  though  you  were  trying  to 
kick  the  backs  of  your  thighs.  Breathe  through 
the  nose,  always,  in  running,  and  master  to  the 
highest  degree  the  trick  of  making  a  great  air 
reservoir  of  your  lungs.  We  have  had  con- 
siderable practice,  both  in  jogging  and  in  sprint- 
ing, but  this  afternoon  I  am  going  to  sprint  each 
man  in  turn,  and  I'm  going  to  pick  all  his  flaws 
of  style  or  speed  to  small  pieces.  We  will  now 
adjourn  to  the  field  for  that  purpose.  Remem- 
ber, that  a  batsman  has  two  very  valuable  as- 
sets— his  hitting  judgment  and  his  running 
steam.  Wagons  are  waiting  outside,  and  we'll 
now  make  quick  time  to  the  field." 

Arriving  there,  Coach  Luce  led  them  at  once 
to  the  dressing  rooms. 

"Now,  then,  we  want  quick  work!"  he  called 


152     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

after  the  sweaters  and  ball  shoes  had  been  hur- 
riedly donned. 

"Now  let  us  go  over  to  the  diamond;  go  to 
the  home  plate  as  I  call  the  names.  Darrin — • 
Eipley — Prescott — Reade — Purcell " 

And  so  on.  The  young  men  named  made 
quick  time  to  the  plate. 

"You're  up,  Darrin.  Run!  Two  bases  only. 
Halt  at  second!  Ripley,  run!  Reade,  run!  Not 
on  your  flat  feet,  Ripley.  Up  on  your  toes,  man! 
Reade,  more  steam!" 

Then  others  were  given  the  starting  word. 
Coach  did  not  run  more  men  at  a  time  than  he 
could  readily  watch. 

"Prescott,  throw  your  feet  up  behind  better. 
You've  been  jogging,  but  that  isn't  the  gait 
Holmes,  straighten  back  more — don't  cramp 
your  chest ! ' ' 

So  the  criticisms  rang  out.  Luce  was  an 
authority  on  short  sprinting.  He  had  made 
good  in  that  line  in  his  own  college  days. 

"Jennison,  you're  not  running  with  your 
arms!  Forget  'em!" 

Jennison  promptly  let  his  arms  hang  motion- 
less at  his  sides. 

"Come  in,  Jennison!"  called  coach. 

Jennison  came  in. 

"You  mustn't  work  your  arms  like  fly-wheels, 
nor  like  piston  rods,  either,"  explained  Mr. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     153 

Luce.  "Keep  your  elbows  in  fairly  close  to 
your  sides;  fists  loosely  closed  and  forward,  a 
little  higher  than  your  elbows.  Now,  all  run- 
ners come  in." 

Gathering  the  squad  about  him,  and  demand- 
ing close  attention,  Mr.  Luce  showed  the  pose 
of  the  body  at  the  instant  of  starting. 

"Now,  I'm  going  to  run  to  first  and  second," 
continued  the  coach.  "I  want  every  man  of 
you  to  watch  closely  and  catch  the  idea.  You 
note  how  I  hold  my  body — sloping  slightly  for- 
ward, yet  with  every  effort  to  avoid  cramping 
the  chest.  Observe  how  I  run  on  the  forward 
part  of  the  ball  of  the  foot — not  exactly  on  the 
toes,  but  close  to  it.  See  just  how  it  is  that 
I  throw  my  feet  up  behind  me.  And  be  very 
particular  to  note  that  I  keep  my  hands  and 
arms  in  just  this  position  all  the  way.  Now, 
then,  when  you  strike  at  a  ball,  and  expect  to 
hit  it,  have  your  lungs  inflated  ready  for  the 
first  bound  of  the  spurt.  Now — watching,  all 
of  you?" 

After  an  instant  Mr.  Luce  shouted,  * '  Strike ! '  * 
and  was  off  like  a  flash.  Many  of  the  boys  pres- 
ent had  never  seen  coach  really  sprint  before. 
As  they  watched  during  the  amazingly  few 
seconds  a  yell  of  delight  went  up  from  them. 
This  was  sprinting! 

"Did  you  all  find  time  to  observe!"  smiled 


154     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

coach,  as  he  came  loping  in  from  second  base. 

"We  all  watched  you,"  laughed  Dick.  "But 
the  time  was  short." 

"You  see  the  true  principle  of  the  sprint!" 

"Yes;  but  it  would  take  any  of  us  years  to 
get  the  sprint  down  that  fine,"  protested  Darrin. 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  retorted  coach. 
"Some  of  you  will  have  doubled  the  style  and 
steam  of  your  sprint  by  the  time  you're  run- 
ning in  the  first  game.  Now,  don't  forget  a 
word  of  what  I've  said  about  the  importance  of 
true  sprinting.  I've  seen  many  a  nine  whose 
members  had  a  fine  battery,  and  all  the  fielders 
good  men;  yet,  when  they  went  to  the  bat  and 
hit  the  leather,  their  sprinting  was  so  poor  that 
they  lost  game  after  game.  From  now  on,  the 
sprint's  the  thing!  Yet  don't  overdo  it  by 
doing  it  all  the  time.  Take  plenty  of  rest  and 
deep  breathing  between  sprints.  Usually,  a 
two-bag  sprint  is  all  you  need.  Now,  some  more 
of  you  get  out  and  try  it." 

Eapidly  coach  called  off  the  names  of  those 
he  wanted  to  try  out.  Some  of  these  young 
men  did  better  than  the  starters,  for  they  had 
learned  from  the  criticisms,  and  from  the  show- 
ing of  Luce's  standard  form. 

Presently  the  young  men  were  standing  about 
in  various  parts  of  the  field,  for  none  came  in 
until  called. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     155 

"Ripley,"  said  Mr.  Luce,  turning  to  that 
young  man,  "you  have  the  build  and  the  lines 
of  a  good  sprinter.** 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  nodded  Fred. 

"And  yet  your  performance  falls  off.  Your 
lung  capacity  ought  to  be  all  right  from  your 
appearance.  What  is  the  trouble?  Honestly, 
have  you  been  smoking  any  cigarettes?" 

"Not  one,"  Fred  declared  promptly. 

Mr.  Luce  lifted  the  boy's  right  hand,  scan- 
ning it. 

"If  /  were  going  to  make  such  a  denial,"  re- 
marked coach  coolly,  "I'd  be  sure  to  have  a 
piece  of  pumice  stone,  and  I'd  use  it  often  to 
take  away  those  yellowish  stains." 

The  light-brownish  stains  were  faint  on  Fred's 
first  and  second  fingers.  Yet,  under  careful 
scrutiny,  they  could  be  made  out. 

Eipley  colored  uncomfortably,  jerking  his 
hand  away. 

"Better  cut  out  the  paper  pests,"  advised 
coach  quietly. 

"Only  one,  once  in  a  while,"  murmured  the 
boy.  ' '  I  won 't  have  even  that  many  after  this. ' ' 

"I  should  hope  not,"  replied  Mr.  Luce. 
"You're  under  training  pledge,  you  know." 

All  Fred  meant  by  his  promise  was  that  he 
would  use  pumice  stone  painstakingly  on  his 
finger  tips  hereafter. 


156     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Within  the  next  few  days,  Dick  and  Dan  in 
made  about  the  best  showing  as  to  sprinting 
form,  though  many  of  the  others  did  remark- 
ably well. 

"Eipley  isn't  cutting  out  the  cigarettes,"  de- 
cided Mr.  Luce,  watching  the  running  of  the 
lawyer's  son.  "He  proves  it  by  his  lack  of  im- 
provement. His  respiration  is  all  to  the  bad." 

Mr.  Luce  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that, 
in  Fred  Eipley,  he  had  a  liar  to  deal  with,  and 
that  neither  repeated  warnings  nor  renewed 
promises  were  worth  much.  So  he  held  his 
peace. 

In  a  few  days  more,  all  the  members  of  the 
Athletics  Committee  who  could  attend  went  to 
the  field.  A  practice  match  between  the  first 
and  second  teams  had  been  ordered.  Eipley 
consented  to  pitch  for  second,  while  Dick  pitched 
for  the  school  nine.  The  latter  nine  won  by  a 
score  of  eleven  to  two,  but  that  had  been  ex- 
pected. It  was  for  another  purpose  that  the 
members  of  the  Athletics  Committee  were  pres- 
ent. 

After  the  game,  there  was  a  brief  conference 
between  coach  and  the  committee  members. 

"It  is  time,  now,  to  announce  the  appoint- 
ment of  captain,"  called  coach,  when  he  had 
again  gathered  the  squad.  "Purcell,  of  the 
junior  class,  will  be  captain  of  the  nine.  Pres- 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     157 

cott,  of  the  sophomore  class,  will  be  second,  or 
relief  captain." 

Then  the  announcements  were  made  for  the 
second  nine. 

And  now  the  first  game  was  close  at  hand. 
The  opponent  was  to  be  Gardiner  City  High 
School.  Gardiner  possessed  one  of  the  strongest 
school  nines  in  the  state.  Coach  Luce  would  have 
preferred  an  easier  opponent  for  the  first  regu- 
lar game,  but  had  to  take  the  only  match  that  he 
could  get. 

" However,  young  gentlemen,"  he  announced 
to  the  squad  on  the  field,  "the  Gridley  idea  is 
that  all  opponents  look  alike  to  us.  Your  city 
and  your  school  will  demand  that  you  win — not 
merely  that  you  try  to  win ! ' ' 

"We'll  win — no  other  way  to  do!"  came  the 
hearty  promise. 


CHAPTER   XV 

A  DASTARD'S  WORK  IN  THE  DARK 

THANKS  to  the  methods  Dick  &  Co.  had 
started  the  year  before  of  raising  funds 
for  High  School  athletics  through  stir- 
ring appeal  to  the  local  pride  of  the  wealthy 
residents  of  the  city,  the  school  nine  had  an 
abundant  supply  of  money  for  all  needs. 


158     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Through  the  columns  of  "The  Blade"  Pres- 
cott  warmed  up  local  interest  effectively.  Tick- 
ets sold  well  ahead  of  the  time  for  the  meeting 
with  Gardiner  City  High  School. 

"Prescott,  you've  been  picked  to  pitch  for 
the  Gardiner  game,"  Coach  Luce  informed  the 
sophomore.  "We're  going  to  have  almost  the 
hardest  rub  of  the  season  with  this  nine,  on  ac- 
count of  its  being  our  first  game.  Gardiner 
City  has  played  two  games  already,  and  her 
men  have  their  diamond  nerve  with  them.  Keep 
yourself  in  shape,  Mr.  Prescott.  Don't  take 
any  even  slight  chance  of  getting  out  of  condi- 
tion." 

"You  may  be  sure  I  won't,"  Dick  replied, 
his  eyes  glowing.  "You  know,  Mr.  Luce,  that, 
though  I  played  some  on  second  football  team 
last  fall,  this  is  the  first  chance  I've  had  to  play 
on  the  regular  team." 

"As  the  game  is  close  at  hand,"  continued 
the  coach,  "I'd  even  be  careful  not  to  train  too 
much.  You're  in  as  fine  condition,  now,  as  you 
can  be  this  season.  Sometimes,  just  in  keeping 
up  training,  a  fellow  has  something  happen  to 
him  that  lays  him  up  for  a  few  days." 

"It  won't  happen  to  me,  sir,"  Dick  asserted. 
"I'm  going  to  take  care  of  myself  as  if  I  were 
glass,  until  the  Gardiner  game  is  over." 

"You  won't  get  too  nervous,  will  you?" 


-THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     159 

"I  may  be  a  bit,  before  the  game,"  Dick  con- 
fessed, candidly. 

"But  after  the  game  starts?" 

"Once  the  game  opens,  I  shall  forget  that 
there 's  any  such  fellow  as  Prescott,  sir.  I  shall 
be  just  a  part  of  Gridley,  with  nothing  individual 
about  me." 

"Good!  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  that  way," 
laughed  Mr.  Luce.  "I  hope  you'll  be  able  to 
keep  up  to  it  when  you  go  to  the  diamond.  Once 
the  game  opens,  don't  let  yourself  have  a  single 
careless  moment.  Any  single  point  we  can  get 
away  from  Gardiner  will  have  to  be  done  by  just 
watching  for  it.  You  saw  them  play  last  year  t ' ' 

"I  did,"  Prescott  nodded.  "Gridley  won, 
four  to  three,  and  until  the  last  half  of  the  last 
inning  we  had  only  one  run.  I  thought  nothing 
could  save  us  that  day." 

"Nothing  did,"  replied  the  coach,  "except  the 
hard  and  fast  can't-lose  tradition  of  Gridley." 

"We're  not  going  to  lose  this  time,  either," 
Dick  declared.  "I  know  that  I'm  going  to 
strike  out  a  string  in  every  inning.  If  I  go 
stale,  you  have  Darrin  to  fall  back  on,  and  he's 
as  baffling  a  pitcher  as  I  can  hope  to  be.  And 
Eipley  is  a  wonder." 

"He  would  be,"  nodded  Mr.  Luce,  sadly,  "if 
he  were  a  better  base  runner  at  the  same  time." 

It  seemed  as  though  nothing  else  could  be 


160     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

talked  of  in  Gridley  but  the  opening  game. 
Just  because  it  was  the  starter  of  the  season  the 
local  military  band,  reinforced  to  thirty-five 
pieces,  was  to  be  on  hand  to  give  swing  and  life 
to  the  affair. 

"Are  you  going,  Laura !"  Dick  asked,  when 
he  met  Miss  Bentley. 

"Am  I  going!"  replied  Laura,  opening  her 
eyes  in  amazement.  "Why,  Dick,  do  you  think 
anything  but  pestilence  or  death  could  keep  me 
away?  Father  is  going  to  take  Belle  and  my- 
self. The  seats  are  already  bought. " 

Prescott's  own  parents  were  to  attend.  Out 
of  his  newspaper  money  he  had  bought  them 
grand  stand  seats,  and  some  one  else  had  been 
engaged  to  attend  in  the  store  while  the  game 
was  on. 

"You'll  have  a  great  chance,  Dick,  old  fel- 
low, against  a  nine  like  Gardiner,"  said  Dave 
Darrin.  "And,  do  you  know,  I'm  glad  it's  up 
to  you  to  pitch?  I'm  afraid  I'd  be  too  rattled 
to  pitch  against  a  nine  like  Gardiner  in  the  very 
first  game  of  the  season.  All  I  have  to  do  is  to 
keep  at  the  side  and  watch  you." 

"See  here,  Dave  Darrin,"  expostulated  his 
chum,  "you  keep  yourself  in  the  best  trim,  and 
make  up  your  mind  that  you  may  have  to  be 
called  before  the  game  is  over.  What  if  my 
wrist  goes  lame  during  the  game?" 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     161 

"Pooh!  I  don't  believe  it  will,  or  can/' 
Dave  retorted.  "You're  in  much  too  fine  shape 
for  that,  Dick." 

"Other  pitchers  have  often  had  to  be  retired 
before  a  game  ended,"  Prescott  rejoined, 
gravely.  "And  I  don't  believe  that  I  am  the 
greatest  or  the  most  enduring  ever.  Keep  your- 
self up,  Dave!  Be  ready  for  the  call  at  any 
second. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  will,  but  it  will  be  needless,"  Dave 
answered. 

Dalzell  and  Holmes  were  other  members  of 
the  school  nine  squad  who  had  been  picked  for 
this  first  game.  Purcell  was  to  catch,  making 
perhaps,  the  strongest  battery  pair  that  Grid- 
ley  High  School  had  ever  put  in  the  field.  Half 
of  Dick  &  Co.  were  to  make  up  a  third  of  the 
nine  in  its  first  battle. 

"I'm  getting  a  bit  scared,"  muttered  Dan,  the 
Friday  afternoon  before  the  Saturday  game. 

"Now,  cut  all  that  out,"  Dick  advised.  "If 
you  don't  I'll  report  you  to  the  coach  and  cap- 
tain." 

This  was  said  with  a  grin,  and  Dick  went  on 
earnestly : 

"Dan,  the  scared  soldier  is  always  a  mighty 
big  drag  in  any  battle.  It  takes  two  or  three 
other  good  soldiers  to  look  after  him  and  hold 
him  to  duty." 

XI—  The  High  School  Pitcher. 


162     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"I'll  admit,  for  myself,  that  I  wish  the  drug- 
gist knew  of  some  sort  of  pill  that  would  give 
me  more  confidence  for  this  confounded  old  first 
game,"  muttered  Greg  Holmes. 

"I  can  tell  you  how  to  get  the  pill  put  up,*' 
Prescott  hinted. 

"I  wish  you  would,  then.".  But  Greg  spoke 
dubiously. 

* '  Tell  the  druggist  to  use  tragacanth  paste  to 
hold  the  pill  together." 

"Yes 1"  followed  Greg.^ 

"And  tell  the  druggist  to  mix  into  each  pill 
a  pound  of  good  old  Yankee  ginger, ' '  wound  up 
Prescott.  "Take  four,  an  hour  apart,  before 
the  game  to-morrow." 

"Then  I'd  never  play  left  field,"  grinned 
Greg. 

"Yes,  you  would.  You'd  forget  your  nerv- 
ousness. Try  it,  Greg." 

The  three  were  walking  up  Main  Street,  when 
they  encountered  Laura  Bentley  and  Belle 
Meade. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-morrow1?" 
asked  Laura,  looking  at  the  trio,  keenly.  "Are 
you  going  to  win  for  the  glory  and  honor  of 
good  old  Gridley?" 

"Dick  is,"  smiled  Greg.  "Dan  and  I  are 
going  to  sit  at  the  side  and  use  foot-warmers." 

"You  two   aren't  losing  heart,    are   you?" 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     163 

asked  Belle,  looking  at  Dick  Prescott's  com- 
panions with  some  scorn. 

"N-n-not  if  you  girls  are  all  going  to  take 
things  as  seriously  as  that, ' '  protested  Greg. 

"Every  Gridley  High  School  girl  expects  the 
nine  to  win  to-morrow,"  spoke  Laura  almost 
sternly. 

"Then  we're  going  to  win,"  affirmed  Dan 
Dalzell.  "On  second  thought,  I'll  cell  my  foot- 
warmers  at  half  the  cost  price." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  laughed  Belle. 
"Now,  remember,  boys — though  Dick  doesn't 
need  to  have  his  backbone  stiffened — if  you 
boys  haven't  pride  enough  in  Gridley  to  carry 
you  through  anything,  the  Gridley  High  School 
girls  are  heart  and  soul  in  the  game.  If  you  lose 
the  game  to-morrow  don 't  any  of  you  ever  show 
up  again  at  a  class  dance!" 

The  girls  went  away  laughing,  yet  they  meant 
what  they  said.  Gridley  girls  were  baseball 
fans  and  football  rooters  of  the  most  intense 
sort. 

Dave  wanted  to  be  abed  by  half  past  eight  that 
evening,  as  Coach  Luce  had  requested ;  but  about 
a  quarter  past  eight,  just  as  he  was  about  to  re- 
tire, his  mother  discovered  that  she  needed 
coffee  for  the  next  morning's  breakfast,  so  she 
sent  him  to  the  grocer's  on  the  errand.  Dick, 
while  eating  supper,  thought  of  an  item  that  he 


164     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

wanted  to  print  in  the  next  day's  "Blade." 
Accordingly,  he  hurried  to  the  newspaper  office 
as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over.  It  was  ten  min- 
ntes  past  eight  when  Dick  handed  in  his  copy 
to  the  night  editor. 

"Time  enough,"  muttered  the  boy,  as  he 
reached  the  street.  "A  brisk  jog  homeward  is 
just  the  thing  before  pulling  off  clothes  and 
dropping  in  between  the  sheets. ' ' 

As  Dick  jogged  along  he  remembered  having 
noticed,  on  the  way  to  the  office,  Tip  Scammon 
in  a  new  suit  of  clothes. 

"Tip's  stock  is  coming  up  in  the  world," 
thought  young  Prescott.  "But  I  wonder 
whether  Tip  earned  that  suit  or  stole  it,  or 
whether  he  has  just  succeeded  in  threatening 
more  money  out  of  Eipley.  How  foolish  Fred 
is  to  stand  for  blackmail !  I  wonder  if  I  ought 
to  speak  to  him  about  it,  or  give  his  father  a 
hint.  I  hate  to  be  meddlesome.  And,  by  gin- 
ger !  Now  I  think  of  it,  Tip  looked  rather  curi- 
ously at  me.  He — oh! — murder!" 

The  last  exclamation  was  wrung  from  Dick 
Prescott  by  a  most  amazing  happening. 

He  was  passing  a  building  in  the  course  of 
erection.  It  stood  flush  with  the  sidewalk,  and 
the  contractor  had  laid  down  a  board  walk  over 
the  sidewalk,  and  had  covered  it  with  a  roofed 
staging. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     165 

Just  as  Dick  passed  under  this,  still  on  a  lope, 
a  long  pole  was  thrust  quickly  out  from  the 
blackness  inside  the  building.  Between  Dick's 
moving  legs  went  the  pole. 

Bump !  Down  came  Dick,  on  both  hands  and 
one  knee.  Then  he  rolled  over  sideways. 

Away  back  in  the  building  the  young  pitcher 
heard  fast-moving  feet. 

In  a  flash  Dick  tried  to  get  up.  It  took  him 
more  time  than  he  had  expected.  He  clutched 
at  one  of  the  upright  beams  for  support. 

Half  a  dozen  people  had  seen  the  fall.  Stop- 
ping curiously,  they  soon  turned,  hurrying  to- 
ward Prescott. 

Forgotten,  in  an  instant,  was  the  youngster's 
pain.  His  face  went  white  with  another  throb- 
bing realization. 

"The  game  to-morrow!  This  knee  puts  me 
out!" 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   HOTJB   OF  TOBMENTING   DOUBT 

""VT°>  no!    That  mustn't  be.    I've  got  to 
pitch  in  to-morrow's  game!" 

Prescott  ground  out  the  words  be- 
tween his  clenched  teeth.  The  consciousness  of 
pain  was  again  asserting  itself. 


166     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"What's  the  matter,  Prescott?"  called  the 
first  passer-by  to  reach  him. 

"Matter  enough/7  grumbled  Dick,  pointing  to 
the  pole  that  lay  near  him.  "See  that  thing?" 

"Yes.     Trip  over  it?" 

"I  did.  But  some  one  thrust  it  between  my 
legs  as  I  was  running  past  here." 

"Sho!"  exclaimed  another,  curiously.  "Now, 
who  would  want  to  do  that?" 

"Anyone  who  didn't  want  me  to  pitch  to-mor- 
row's game,  perhaps,"  flashed  Dick,  with  sud- 
den divination. 

"What's  this?"  demanded  a  boy,  breaking  in 
through  the  small  crowd  that  was  collecting. 
"Dick— you  hurt?" 

It  didn't  take  Dave  many  seconds  to  under- 
stand the  situation. 

"I'll  bet  I  know  who  did  it!"  he  muttered, 
vengefully. 

"Who?"  spoke  up  one  of  the  men. 

But  Dick  gave  a  warning  nudge. 

"Oh,  well !"  muttered  Dave  Darrin.  "We'll 
settle  this  thing  all  in  our  own  good  time." 

"Let  me  have  your  arm,  Dave,"  begged 
young  Prescott.  "I  want  to  see  how  well  I  can 
walk." 

The  young  pitcher  had  already  been  experi- 
menting, cautiously,  to  see  how  much  weight 
lie  could  bear  on  his  injured  left  leg. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHEK     167 

"Take  my  arm  on  the  other  side,"  volun- 
teered a  sympathetic  man  in  the  crowd. 

Dick  was  about  to  do  so,  when  the  lights  of 
an  auto  showed  as  the  machine  came  close  to 
the  curb. 

"Here's  a  doctor,"  called  some  one. 

"Which  one?"  asked  Dick. 

"Bentley." 

"Good!"  muttered  Dave.  "Dr.  Bentley  is 
medical  examiner  to  the  High  School  athletic 
teams.  Ask  Dr.  Bentley  if  he  won't  come  in 
ihere.  Stand  still,  Dick,  and  put  all  the  weight 
you  can  on  your  sound  leg." 

Prescott  was  already  doing  this. 

Dr.  Bentley,  a  strong  looking  man  of  about 
fifty,  rather  short  though  broad-shouldered, 
took  a  quick  survey  of  the  situation. 

"One  of  you  men  help  me  put  Prescott  in  the 
tonneau  of  my  car,"  he  directed,  "and  come 
along  with  me  to  Prescott 's  home.  The  lad 
must  not  step  on  that  leg  until  it  has  been  looked 
at." 

Dick  found  himself  being  lifted  and  placed  in 
a  comfortable  seat  in  the  after  part  of  the  auto. 
Dave  and  the  man  who  had  helped  the  physician 
got  in  with  him. 

Barely  a  minute  later  Dr.  Bentley  stopped 
his  car  before  the  Prescott  book  store. 

"You  stay  in  the  car  a  minute,"  directed  the 


168     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

physician.    "I  want  to  speak  to  your  mother, 
so  she  won't  be  scared  to  death." 

Mrs.  Prescott,  from  whom  Dick  had  inherited 
much  of  his  own  pluck,  was  not  the  kind  of 
woman  to  faint.  She  quickly  followed  Dr. 
Bentley  from  the  store. 

"I'm  hurt  only  in  my  feelings,  mother,"  said 
Dick  cheerfully.  "I'm  afraid  I  have  a  little 
wrench  that  will  keep  me  out  of  the  game  to- 
morrow. ' ' 

"That's  almost  a  tragedy,  I  know,"  replied 
Mrs.  Prescott  bravely. 

The  physician  directing,  the  boy  was  lifted 
from  the  car,  while  Mrs.  Prescott  went  ahead 
to  open  the  door. 

Dave  Darrin  followed,  his  eyes  flashing. 
Dave  had  his  own  theory  to  account  for  this 
state  of  affairs. 

Into  his  own  room  Dick  was  carried,  and  laid 
on  the  bed.  Mrs.  Prescott  remained  outside 
while  Dave  helped  undress  his  chum. 

"Now,  let  us  see  just  how  bad  this  is,"  mused 
the  physician  aloud. 

"It  isn't  so  very  bad,"  smiled  Dick.  "I 
wouldn't  mind  at  all,  if  it  weren't  for  the  game 
to-morrow.  I'll  play,  anyway." 

"Huh!"  muttered  Dave,  incredulously. 

Dr.  Bentley  was  running  his  fingers  over  the 
left  knee,  which  looked  rather  red. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     169 

"Does  this  hurt?  Does  this?  Or  this"  in- 
quired the  medical  man,  pressing  on  different 
parts  of  the  knee. 

"No,"  Dick  answered,  in  each  case. 

"We  don't  want  grit,  my  boy.  We  want  the 
truth." 

"Why,  no;  it  doesn't  hurt,"  Dick  insisted. 
••"I  believe  I  could  rub  that  knee  a  little,  and  then 
walk  on  it." 

"I  hope  that's  right,"  Dave  muttered,  half 
incredulously. 

Dr.  Bentley  made  some  further  examination 
before  he  stated : 

"I  knew  there  was  nothing  broken  there,  but 
I  feared  that  the  ligaments  of  the  knee  had  been 
strained.  That  might  have  put  you  out  of  the 
game  for  the  season,  Prescott." 

"I'll  be  able  to  sprint  in  the  morning,"  de- 
clared the  young  pitcher,  with  spirit. 

"You  fell  on  your  hands,  as  well,  didn't 
you  ? ' '  asked  the  physician. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"That  saved  you  from  worse  trouble,  then. 
The  ligaments  are  not  torn  at  all.  The  worst 
you've  met  with,  Prescott,  is  a  wrench  of  the 
knee,  and  there's  a  little  swelling.  It  hurt  to 
stand  on  your  foot  when  you  first  tried  to  do 
so,  didn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


170     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHEK 

"It  would  probably  hurt  a  little  less,  now. 
No — don't  try  it,"  as  Dick  started  to  bolster 
himself  up.  "You  want  that  knee  in  shape  at 
the  earliest  moment,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course  I  do,  doctor." 

"Then  lie  very  quiet,  and  do,  in  everything, 
just  what  you  are  told." 

"I've  got  to  pitch  to-morrow  afternoon,  you 
know,  doctor.  And  I've  got  to  run  bases." 

Dr.  Bentley  pursed  his  lips. 

"There's  a  chance  in  a  thousand  that  you'll 
be  able,  Prescott.  The  slight  swelling  is  the 
worst  thing  we  have  to  deal  with,  I'm  glad  to 
say.  We'll  have  to  keep  the  leg  pretty  quiet, 
and  put  cold  compresses  on  frequently." 

"I'll  stay  here  and  do  it,"  volunteered  Dave, 
promptly. 

"You  have  to  pitch  to-morrow,  Dave,  if  any- 
thing should  make  the  coach  order  me  off  the 
field,"  interposed  Dick,  anxiously.  "And  you 
ought  to  be  home  and  in  bed  now." 

"If  Mrs.  Prescott  will  put  on  the  bandages 
up  to  one  o  'clock  to-night  that  will  be  doing  well 
enough,"  suggested  Dr.  Bentley.  "I  shall  be  in 
to  look  at  the  young  man  quite  early  in  the 
morning.  But  don't  attempt  to  get  up  for  any- 
thing, do  you  understand,  Prescott?  You 
know" — here  Dr.  Bentley  assumed  an  air  of 
authority — "I'm  more  than  the  mere  physician. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     171 

I'm  medical  'director  to  your  nine.  So  you're 
in  duty  bound  to  follow  my  orders  to  the  let- 
ter." 

"I  will — if  you'll  promise  me  that  I  can 
pitch,"  promised  the  boy  fervently. 

"I  can't  promise,  but  I'll  do  my  best." 

"And,  Dave,"  pressed  Dick,  "you'll  skip 
home,  now,  and  get  a  big  night's  rest,  won't 
you?  There's  a  bare  chance  that  you  might 
have  to  throw  the  ball  to-morrow.  But  I  won't 
let  you,  if  I  can  stop  it,"  Prescott  added  wist- 
fully. 

So  Dave  departed,  for  he  was  accustomed  to 
following  the  wishes  of  the  head  of  Dick  &  Co. 
in  such  matters. 

Mrs.  Prescott  had  come  in  as  soon  as  the  lad 
had  been  placed  between  the  sheets.  Dr.  Bent- 
ley  gave  some  further  directions,  then  left  some- 
thing that  would  quiet  the  pain  without  having 
the  effect  of  an  opiate. 

"It  all  depends  on  keeping  the  leg  quiet  and 
keeping  the  cold  compresses  renewed, ' '  were  the 
medical  man's  parting  words. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Dave  telephoned  the 
store  below.  Damn  was  in  a  state  of  great  ex- 
citement. 

' '  Tell  Dick,  when  he 's  awake  in  the  morning, ' ' 
begged  Dave  of  Mr.  Prescott,  who  answered  the 
call,  "that  Gridley  pitchers  seem  to  be  in  danger 


to-night.  At  least,  two  of  'em  are.  I  was  right 
near  home,  and  running  a  bit,  when  I  passed  the 
head  of  the  alley  near  our  house.  A  bag  of  sand 
was  thrown  out  right  in  front  of  my  feet.  How 
I  did  it  I  don't  quite  know  yet,  but  I  jumped 
over  that  bag,  and  came  down  on  my  feet  be- 
yond it.  It  was  a  fearfully  close  call,  though. 
No;  I  guess  you  hadn't  better  tell  Dick  to-night. 
But  you  can  tell  him  in  the  morning." 

Though  "The  Blade"  somehow  missed  the 
matter,  there  were  a  good  many  in  Gridley  who 
had  heard  the  news  by  Saturday  morning.  It 
traveled  especially  among  the  High  School 
boys.  More  than  a  dozen  of  them  were  at  the 
book  store  as  soon  as  that  place  was  opened. 

"How's  Dick?"  asked  all  the  callers. 

"Doing  finely,"  replied  the  elder  Prescott, 
cheerily. 

* '  Great !   Is  he  going  to  pitch  this  afternoon  ? ' ' 

"Urn — er — I  can't  say  about  that." 

"If  he  can't,  Mr.  Prescott,  that'll  be  one  of 
Gridley 's  chances  gone  over  the  fence." 

Dave  was  on  hand  as  early  as  he  could  be. 
Dick  had  already  been  told  of  the  attempt  on 
his  chum  the  night  before. 

"You  didn't  see  the  fellow  well  enough  to 
make  out  who  he  was?"  Prescott  pressed 
eagerly. 

"No,"  admitted  Dave,  sadly.    "After  a  few 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     173 

seconds  I  got  over  my  bewilderment  enough  to 
try  to  give  chase.  But  the  dastard  had  sneaked 
away,  cat-foot.  I  know  who  it  was,  though,  even 
if  I  didn  't  see  him. ' ' 

"Tip  Scammon?" 

"Surely,'*  nodded  Damn.  "He's  Ripley's 
right  hand  at  nasty  work,  isn't  he!" 

"I'd  hate  to  think  that  Fred  had  a  hand  in 
such  mean  business,"  muttered  Dick,  flushing. 

"Don't  be  simple,"  muttered  Dave.  "Who 
wanted  to  be  crack  pitcher  for  the  nine?  Who 
pitches  to-day,  if  neither  of  us  can  ?  That  would 
be  a  mean  hint  to  throw  out,  if  Ripley's  past 
conduct  didn't  warrant  the  suspicion." 

Later  in  the  morning  there  was  another  phase 
of  the  sensation,  and  Dave  came  back  with  it. 
He  was  just  in  time  to  find  Dick  walking  out 
into  the  little  parlor  of  the  flat,  Dr.  Bentley 
watching. 

"Fine!"  cheered  Dave.  "How  is  he,  doc- 
tor?" 

"Doing  nicely,"  nodded  Dr.  Bentley. 

"But  how  about  the  big  problem — can  he 
pitch  to-day?" 

"That's  what  we're  trying  to  guess,"  replied 
the  physician.  "Now,  see  here,  Prescott,  you're 
to  sit  over  there  by  the  window,  in  the  sun- 
light. During  the  first  hour  you  will  get  up 
once  in  every  five  minutes  and  walk  around  the 


174     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

room  once,  then  seating  yourself  again.  In  the 
second  hour,  you'll  walk  around  twice,  every 
five  minutes.  After  that  you  may  move  about 
as  much  as  you  like,  but  don't  go  out  of  the 
room.  I  think  you  can,  by  this  gentle  exercise, 
work  out  all  the  little  stiffness  that's  left  there.'* 

"And  now  for  my  news,"  cried  Dave,  as  soon 
as  the  medical  man  had  gone.  "Fred  Eipley 
ran  into  trouble,  too." 

"Got  hurt,  you  mean?"  asked  Dick  quickly. 

"Not  quite,"  went  on  Darrin,  making  a  face. 
*'  When  Fred  was  going  into  the  house  last  night 
ne  tripped  -slightly — against  a  rope  that  had 
been  stretched  across  the  garden  path  between 
two  stakes." 

"But  Fred  wasn't  hurt?" 

"No;  he  says  he  tripped,  but  he  recovered 
himself." 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  believe  that,  Dave?'* 

"I  ought  to,  anyway,"  retorted  Darrin 
dryly.  "Fred  is  showing  the  rope." 

"A  piece  of  rope  is  easy  enough  to  get,** 
mused  Diek. 

"Yep;  and  a  lie  is  easy  enough  for  some  fel- 
lows to  tell.  But  some  of  the  fellows  are  in- 
clined to  believe  Eip,  so  they've  started  a  yarn 
that  Gardiner  High  School  is  up  to  trioks,  and 
that  some  fellows  have  been  sent  over  in  advance 
to  cripple  our  box  men  for  to-day." 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHEE     175 

"That's  vile!"  flushed  Prescott  indignantly, 
as  he  got  up  to  make  the  circuit  of  the  room. 
"The  Gardiner  fellows  have  always  been  good, 
fair  sportsmen.  They  wouldn't  be  back  of  any 
tricks  of  that  sort." 

"Well,  Fred  has  managed  to  cover  himself, 
anyway,"  returned  Dave  rather  disgustedly. 
"He  called  his  father  and  mother  out  to  see 
the  rope  before  he  cut  it  away  from  the  stakes. 
Oh,  I  guess  a  good  many  fellows  will  believe 
Bipley's  yarn!" 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't,  Dave." 

' '  Oh,  yes ;  I  'm  easy, ' '  grinned  Damn. 

"Can  you  see  two  young  ladies,  Eichard?" 
asked  Mrs.  Prescott,  looking  into  the  room. 

"Certainly,  mother,  if  I  get  a  chance.  My 
vision  is  not  impaired  in  the  least,"  laughed 
Dick. 

Mrs.  Prescott  stood  aside  to  admit  Laura  and 
Belle,  then  followed  them  into  the  room. 

"We  came  to  make  sure  that  Gridley  is  not 
to  lose  its  great  pitcher  to-day,"  announced 
Laura. 

"Then  your  father  must  have  told  you  that 
I'd  do,"  cried  Dick,  eagerly. 

'  *  Father  ? ' '  pouted  Miss  Bentley.  l '  You  don 't 
know  him  then.  One  can  never  get  a  word  out 
of  father  about  any  of  his  patients.  But  he 
said  we  might  call." 


176     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

The  visit  of  the  girls  brightened  up  twenty 
minutes  of  the  morning. 

"Of  course,"  said  Laura,  as  they  rose  to  go, 
"you  mustn't  attempt  to  pitch  if  you  really 
can't  do  it,  or  if  it  would  hurt  you  for  future 
games. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  the  coach  won't  let  me  pitch, 
unless  your  father  says  I  can,"  murmured  Dick, 
with  a  wry  face. 

Few  in  Gridley  who  knew  the  state  of  af- 
fairs had  any  idea  that  Dick  Prescott  would  be 
able  to  stand  in  the  box  against  Gardiner.  But 
the  young  pitcher  boarded  a  trolley  car,  ac- 
companied by  Dave  Darrin,  and  both  reached 
the  Athletic  Field  before  two  o'clock.  Dr. 
Bentley  was  there  soon  after.  In  the  Gridley 
dressing  room,  Dick's  left  leg  was  bared,  while 
Coach  Luce  drew  off  his  coat  and  rolled  up  his 
shirt  sleeves.  Under  the  physician's  direction 
the  coach  administered  a  very  thorough  mas- 
sage, following  this  with  an  alcohol  rubbing. 

When  it  was  all  over  Dick  rose  to  exhibit  the 
motions  of  that  leg  before  the  eyes  of  the  doubt- 
ful physician. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     177 
CHAPTER  XVH 

.WHEN   THE   HOME   FANS   QUIVERED 

•*"I"S  Prescott  going  to  toss?" 
"They  say  not." 

•*"     "It's  a  shame." 

"And  there's  a  suspicion,"  whispered  one 
of  the  High  School  speakers,  "that  the  other 
name  of  the  shame  is  Fred  Ripley." 

"He  ought  to  be  lynched!" 

"But  he  claims  that  an  attempt  was  made 
against  him,  also." 

"Ripley  never  was  strong  on  the  truth." 

Though  the  gossip  about  Fred  Ripley  was  not 
general,  the  anxiety  over  Pitcher  Prescott  was 
heard  on  all  sides. 

"It'll  be  a  sure  hoodoo  if  Prescott  can't  pitch 
the  season's  first  game,"  declared  a  man  who 
seldom  missed  a  High  School  game  on  the  home 
diamond. 

Before  three  o'clock  the  grand  stand  was 
comfortably  filled.  The  cheaper  seats  beyond 
held  about  as  many  spectators  as  they  were 
built  to  hold. 

The  attendance,  that  day,  was  nearly  three 
thousand.  Gardiner  had  sent  a  delegation  of 
nearly  one-tenth  of  this  number. 

I»—  The  High  School  Pitcher. 


178     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Before  three  o'clock  the  band  began  to  play. 
Whenever  the  musicians  launched  into  a  popu- 
lar baseball  ditty  the  crowd  joined  with  the 
words. 

"Prescott  is  going  to  pitch!" 

"No,  he  isn't." 

* '  The  word  has  just  been  passed  around.  Be- 
sides, his  name's  down  on  the  score  card." 

"The  score  cards  were  printed  yesterday." 

Finally,  curiosity  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
A  committee  left  the  grand  stand  to  go  toward 
the  dressing  rooms  building.  But  a  policeman 
waved  them  back. 

"None  but  players  and  officials  allowed  in 
there,"  declared  the  officer. 

"We  want  to  find  out  whether  Prescott  is 
going  to  pitch,"  urged  the  spokesman. 

"I  heard  something  about  that,"  admitted 
the  policeman. 

"What  was  it?    Quick!" 

"Let  me  see.  Oh!  Prescott  wants  to  pitch; 
the  coach  is  half  willing,  but  the  doctor  ain't 
certain." 

This  was  the  best  they  could  do,  so  the  com- 
mittee returned  to  their  seats.  But  nothing 
was  settled. 

At  three-twenty,  just  as  the  band  ceased  play- 
ing, the  compact  bunch  of  Gardiner  fans  sent 
•Qp  the  yell: 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     179 

"Here  they  come!  Our  fellows!  The  only 
ones!" 

Using  their  privilege  as  visiting  team,  the 
Gardiner  players  were  now  filing  on  to  the  field 
for  a  little  warming-up  practice. 

"  Throw  him  down,  MeCluskey!"  tooted  the 
band,  derisively.  But  the  cheers  from  the  wild 
Gardiner  fans  nearly  drowned  out  the  instru- 
mental racket.  Quickly  the  visitors  had  a  prac- 
tice ball  in  motion.  Now  the  home  fans  waited 
breathlessly. 

At  last  the  band  played  again.  "See  the 
Conquering  Hero  Comes!'-' 

Gridley  High  School,  natty  and  clean  looking 
in  their  gray  and  black  uniforms,  with  black 
stockings,  caps  and  belts,  came  out  on  the  field. 
Instantly  there  was  craning  of  necks  to  see  if 
Prescott  were  among  the  players. 

"There  he  is!"  yelled  one  of  the  High  School 
fans.  "There's  our  Dick!  Wow!" 

Cheering  went  up  from  every  Gridley  seat. 
The  bleachers  contributed  a  bedlam  of  noise. 
"For  He's  a  Jolly  Good  Fellow!"  blared  forth 
the  band.  Girls  and  women  stood  up,  waving 
fans,  handkerchiefs,  banners.  Another  round 
of  cheering  started.  Dick  walked  quietly,  look- 
ing neither  to  right  nor  left.  Yet  the  boy  was 
wondering,  in  astonishment,  if  kings  usually 
got  such  a  welcome. 


180     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

By  the  time  the  cheering  had  ceased,  Fred 
Ripley,  also  in  uniform,  strolled  out  and  walked 
toward  the  sub  bench. 

A  hiss  greeted  Ripley.  It  was  not  loud,  nor 
insistent,  and  presently  died  out.  But  Fred 
went  as  white  as  a  sheet,  then,  with  eyes  cast 
downward,  he  dropped  to  his  seat  at  the  end 
of  the  sub  bench.  His  chest  heaved,  for  the 
greeting  had  unnerved  him. 

"I  wonder  why  I  usually  get  that  sort  of 
thing,  while  that  fellow  Prescott  has  a  band  to 
play  him  in,"  muttered  Fred. 

The  bulk  of  the  audience  was  now  quiet,  while 
the  three  hundred  visiting  fans  roared  out  one 
of  their  school  yells. 

Then  followed  a  noisy  whooping  of  the  Grid- 
ley  High  School  yell. 

Coach  Luce  had  walked  over  to  a  post  be- 
hind the  sub  bench. 

Umpire  Foley,  his  mask  dangling  from  his 
lef*  hand,  now  summoned  Purcell  and  the 
Gardiner  captain.  A  coin  spun  up  in  the  air. 
Gardiner's  diamond  chieftain  won  the  toss,  and 
chose  first  chance  at  the  bat.  Purcell 's  men 
scattered  to  their  fielding  posts,  while  the  young 
captain  of  the  home  team  fastened  on  his  catch- 
er's mask. 

The  umpire  took  a  ball  from  its  package,  in- 
spected it,  then  tossed  it  to  Dick  Prescott,  who 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     181 

stood  in  the  box  awaiting  it.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment's tense  expectation,  followed  by  the  com- 
mand that  set  all  the  real  fans  wild: 

"Play  ball!" 

Gardiner  High  School  had  put  up  a  husky 
jyoung  giant  who  stood  beside  the  plate,  a  con- 
fident grin  on  his  face  as  he  swung  the  bat. 

Dick  moistened  his  fingers.  The  batsman  saw 
that,  and  guessed  what  was  coming.  He  didn't 
guess  quite  low  enough,  however,  for,  though  he 
stooped  and  swung  the  stick  lower,  the  ball  went 
under  it  by  three  inches. 

"Strike  one!"  called  Mr.  Foley,  judicially. 

An  imperceptible  signal  told  Purcell  what  was 
coming  next.  Then  it  came — a  jump  ball.  This 
time  Gardiner's  batsman  aimed  low  enough — 
but  it  proved  to  be  a  jump  ball. 

"Strike  two!" 

A  howl  of  glee  went  up  from  all  quarters,  save 
from  the  Gardiner  visitors. 

Again  Dick  signaled.  His  third  was  alto- 
gether different — a  bewildering  out-curve.  Gar- 
diner's batsman  didn't  offer,  but  Purcell  caught 
the  leather  neatly. 

' *  Strike  three,  and  out !  One  out ! ' '  announced 
the  umpire. 

"Whoop!"  The  joy  from  the  home  fans  was 
let  loose.  With  a  disgusted  look,  Gardiner's 
man  slouched  back  to  the  players'  bench. 


182     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 


CHAP 

THE  GRIT  OP   THE   GRAND   OLD   GAME 

IN  that  half  of  the  inning  it  was  one,  two, 
three — down  and  out! 

Even  Fred  Ripley  found  himself  gasping 
with  admiration  of  Prescott's  wonderfully  true 
pitching. 

Yet  the  joy  of  the  home  fans  was  somewhat 
curhed  when  Gridley  went  to  bat  and  her  third 
man  struck  out  after  two  of  the  nine  had  reached 
bases. 

So  the  first  inning  closed  without  score.  Gar- 
diner had  found  that  Gridley  was  "good,"  and 
the  latter  realized  that  even  young  Prescott's 
pitching  could  not  do  it  all. 

The  first  five  innings  went  off  quickly,  neither 
side  scoring. 

"It'll  be  a  tie  at  dark,"  sighed  some  of  the 
fans. 

"Oh,  well,  a  tie  doesn't  score  against  Grid- 
ley,"  others  added,  consolingly. 

In  the  five  innings  Dick  Prescott  had  to  run 
twice.  The  first  time  he  was  left  at  first  base. 
The  second  time  he  had  reached  second,  and 
was  cautiously  stealing  third,  when  Gridley  *s 
batsman,  Captain  Purcell,  struck  his  side  out 
on  a  foul  hit. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHES     183 

"How's  your  wrist  holding  up?"  asked  Pur- 
cell,  in  a  low  tone,  as  Dick  came  in. 

"It  feels  strong. 

"Do  you  think  Darrin  had  better  have  the 
rest  of  the  game  ? ' ' 

"Not  on  account  of  my  wrist." 

"But  can  you  run  the  bases  to  the  end!" 

"If  it  doesn't  call  for  any  more  running  than 
we've  had,"  smiled  Dick. 

Then  he  caught  the  ball,  held  it  an  instant, 
signaled,  and  let  drive.  It  was  the  same  Gar- 
diner batsman  whom  Prescott  had  struck  out 
at  the  opening  of  the  game.  This  time  the  young 
giant  got  the  range  of  the  ball  by  sheer  good 
guessing. 

Crack!  It  soared.  Bight  field  ran  backward 
after  the  ball.  Now  the  Gardiner  fans  were  up 
and  yelling  like  Comanches. 

"Leg  it,  Prendergast ! " 

The  runner  touched  first  bag,  then  darted  on 
for  second.  Right  field  was  still  after  the  ball. 

"Whoop!    He's  pulverized  the  second  bag!" 

"Just  look  at  third,  old  man,  and  come  steam- 
ing home  over  the  plate!" 

That  runner  had  been  well  trained.  He  was 
close  upon  third  base  and  going  with  unabated 
speed. 

He  kicked  the  bag — then  a  warning  cry  told 
him  that  right  field  had  the  ball. 


184     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

A  swift  look  over  his  shoulder,  and  Prender- 
gast  fell  back  upon  third  just  before  the  ball 
dropped  into  the  third  baseman's  hands. 

"Safe  on  third!"  came  the  umpire's  an- 
nouncement. The  ball  arched  over  to  Dick 
Prescott.  Purcell  signaled  him  to  let  the  ball 
come  in  over  the  plate. 

Now  the  air  was  all  a-tingle.  The  visitors 
had  a  run  in  sight.  Dick  felt  the  thrill,  but 
steeled  himself  against  any  impulsiveness  or  loss 
of  nerve.  He  signaled  the  drive,  then  let  go. 
Three  strikes  and  out,  the  ball  all  the  while  so 
closely  under  control  that  Prendergast  fidgeted 
but  did  not  dare  steal  far  from  third. 

Then  came  Dowdy  to  the  bat.  He  was  far 
and  away  the  best  batsman  from  Gardiner. 
Prendergast  began  to  edge  in. 

"Strike  one!"  from  the  umpire. 

Crack!  The  leather  hung  low,  a  little  to  the 
left  of  shortstop,  who  raced  after  it.  Prender- 
gast was  going  in  at  a  tremendous  clip.  As 
shortstop  reached  the  ball,  he  swooped  down  on 
it,  stopped  its  rolling,  and  rising  quickly,  hurled 
it  in  across  the  plate. 

Purcell  was  waiting,  and  made  a  good  catch. 
It  looked  close.  Everyone  eyed  Umpire  Foley. 

"Runner  safe  home,"  he  decided. 

There  was  a  gasp  of  disappointment,  but  the 
decision  was  fair.  Prendergast  had  made  good 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     185 

by  a  fraction  of  a  second — and  there  was  a  man 
on  first. 

"Oh,  Dick!  Oh,  Prescott!"  wailed  the  home 
fans.  "We  look  to  you." 

Dick's  answer  was  to  strike  the  next  man 
out,  with  never  a  chance  for  the  man  on  first  to 
steal  away  from  Dalzell  and  make  second.  Then 
a  short  fly  filled  first  and  second.  Dick  struck 
out  a  second  man — then  a  third. 

But  this  was  getting  on  Gridley 's  nerves.  De- 
spite Prescott 's  fine  pitching,  it  began  to  look 
as  though  Gardiner  High  School  was  fitted  for 
getting  the  only  one  or  two  runs  that  the  game 
would  witness. 

In  the  eighth,  Gardiner  got  a  second  run,  but 
that  inning  closed  with  Gridley  as  much 
"stumped"  as  ever. 

"Why  play  the  ninth!"  yelled  one  of  the 
visitor  fans.  "Let's  go  and  drink  tea.  Gridley 
boys  are  nice  little  fellows,  but " 

"How's  that  wrist?"  asked  Captain  Purcell, 
anxiously,  as  the  players  changed  places  to  be- 
gin the  ninth.  Coach  Luce  had  stepped  close, 
too,  and  looked  anxious. 

"Just  a  bit  lame,  of  course,"  Dick  admitted. 
"But  I'm  going  to  pull  through." 

"You're  sure  about  it?"  Purcell  asked. 

"Sure  enough!" 

The  first  Gardiner  man  to  bat  went  out  on 


the  third  ball  sent  past  him.  Then  a  second. 
Now  came  Prendergast  to  the  bat,  blood  in  his 
eye.  He  glared  grimly  at  young  Prescott,  as 
thongh  to  say: 

"Now,  I'll  take  it  out  of  you  for  making  a 
comedian  of  me  the  first  time  I  held  the  stick!" 

Dick  felt,  somehow,  that  Prendergast  would 
make  good. 

The  first  ball  that  Prescott  put  over  the  plate 
was  a  called  strike.  At  the  second  serve — 

Crack !  and  Prendergast  was  running. 

Dan  Dalzell  gauged  the  flight  of  that  ball  bet- 
ter than  anyone  else  on  the  diamond.  He  side- 
stepped like  a  flash,  falling  back  a  couple  of 
paces.  Then  pulling  the  leather  down  out  of 
the  air,  he  leaped  back  to  first.  He  was  hold- 
ing the  ball  in  his  left  hand  when  Prendergast, 
breathing  fast,  hopped  at  the  bag. 

"Bunner  out!'7  called  Umpire  Foley.  Pren- 
dergast stamped  back,  with  a  look  of  huge  dis- 
gust. And  now  Gridley  came  in  at  the  bat. 

"It's  no  use!  We're  whipped!"  That  was 
the  comment  everywhere  as  Gridley  came  in 
from  the  field  prepared  for  a  last  effort. 

Gridley 's  first  and  second  men  went  bad — 
the  first  struck  out,  and  the  second  knocked  a  foul 
hit  that  was  caught. 

"Greg,  you've  got  to  go  to  bat  next,"  whis- 
pered Dick  to  Holmes,  just  a  moment  before. 


STHE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     187 

"Oh,  don't  you  strike  out  Hit  something- 
drive  it  somewhere.  Remember  Gridley  can't 
and  won't  lose!  Get  the  Gridley  spirit  soaked 
into  you  instanter.  Chase  that  leather  some- 
where!" 

Gardiner's  pitcher,  his  face  beaming,  faced 
Holmes,  whom  he  did  not  regard  as  one  of  the 
team's  heavyweights  in  batting  skill.  Visiting 
fans  were  rising,  preparing  to  leave  the  stand. 

" Strike  one!" 

"There  he  goes!" 

"Strike  two!'' 

"It's  all  over." 

Crack!  Greg  was  off  like  a  colt.  Running 
was  in  his  line.  He  had  swatted  the  ball  some- 
where over  into  left  field,  and  he  didn't  care 
where  it  landed.  Gardiner's  left  field  was 
forced  to  pick  up  the  leather. 

Greg  didn't  know  that  anyone  had  the  ball. 
He  didn't  care;  he  had  to  make  first,  anyway. 

He  kicked  the  bag,  turning  for  the  second 
lap.  Then  he  saw  the  sphere  coming  through 
the  air,  and  slid  back. 

"Runner  safe  on  first!" 

Gridley,  with  its  nerve  always  on  hand,  felt 
that  there  was  a  ray  of  hope.  The  good,  old, 
strong  and  fierce  school  yell  went  up.  The 
soprano  voices  of  the  girls  sounded  high  on  the 
air. 


188     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Now  Dan  Dalzell  came  up  to  the  plate,  bat  in 
hand.  Dan  hadn't  hit  a  thing  during  the  after- 
noon, but  he  meant  to  do  so,  now.  It  was  either 
that  or  the  swan-song! 

" Strike  one!" — a  groan  came  from  Gridley, 
a  cheer  from  Gardiner. 

But  Dan  was  not  in  the  least  confused.  He 
was  ready  for  the  next  ball. 

Biff !  It  was  the  pistol  shot  for  Greg,  who 
was  off  like  a  two-legged  streak,  with  Dan, 
ninety  feet  behind  but  striving  to  catch  up.  The 
ball  came  to  first  only  a  quarter-second  behind 
Dan's  arrival. 

"Both  runners  safe!" 

"Oh,  now,  Purcell!" 

The  man  now  hovering  over  the  plate  knew 
he  simply  had  to  do  something.  He  was  cap- 
tain of  the  nine.  He  had  caught  like  a  Pinker- 
ton  detective  all  afternoon,  but  now  something 
was  demanded  of  his  brain  and  brawn. 

"Strike  one!"  called  the  umpire,  with  voice 
that  grated. 

"Good-bye!" 

"Strike  two!"  came  again  the  umpire's  rasp- 
ing tones. 

Even  now  Gridley  fans  wouldn't  admit  cold 
feet,  but  the  chills  were  starting  that  way. 

Crack! 

"Whoop!"      Then  the  battle-cry  of  Gridley 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     189 

rose  frantically  from  all  the  seats — Purcell  had 
made  first  base. 

"Prescott!" 

"It's  yours!" 

"Downfall  down!" 

Schimmelpodt,  a  wealthy  old  German  con- 
tractor, rose  from  his  seat,  shouting  hoarsely: 

"Bresgott  I  gif  fifdy  tollars  by  dot  Athletic 
Gommittee  bis  you  win  der  game  vor  Gridley!" 

The  offer  brought  a  laugh  and  a  cheer. 
Schimmelpodt  rarely  threw  away  money. 

Dick,  smiling  confidently,  stood  bat  in  hand. 

Most  other  boys  might  have  felt  nervous  with 
so  much  depending  on  them.  But  Dick  was  one 
of  the  kind  who  would  put  off  growing  nervous 
until  the  need  of  steady  nerves  was  past. 

It  was  always  impossible  for  him  to  admit 
defeat. 

The  game  stood  two  to  nothing  in  favor  of 
the  Gardiner  nine,  but  Gridley  had  bases  full. 

Dick's  help  might  not  have  been  needed  for 
all  the  uneasiness  that  he  displayed. 

There  was  no  pallor  about  his  face,  nor 
any  flush.  His  hands  grasped  the  willow  easily, 
confidently. 

"Strike  one!" 

Prescott  had  missed  the  ball,  but  it  failed  to 
rattle  him. 

"Strike  two!" 


190     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

The  boy  was  still  undaunted,  though  he  had 
lost  two  chances  out  of  the  three. 

Again  he  tried  for  the  ball. 

Swish!  It  was  a  foul  hit,  out  sidewise. 
Gardiner's  catcher  darted  nimbly  in  under  the 
ball. 

Home  fans  groaned. 

As  for  Dick,  he  didn't  turn  his  head  to  look. 
Catcher  had  the  ball  in  his  fingers,  but  fumbled 
it.  It  slipped. 

"Hard  luck,"  muttered  the  standing  Gardi- 
ner fans,  waiting  to  give  their  final  cheer  of 
victory. 

Dick's  next  sight  of  the  ball  was  when  it  sailed 
lazily  over  his  head,  into  the  hands  of  the  man 
in  the  box. 

"I  hope  Dick  is  bracing,"  groaned  one  of 
Gridley's  subs. 

"He  isn't,"  retorted  Dave  Darrin.  "He's 
just  on  the  job,  steady  as  iron,  cool  as  a  cucum- 
ber and  confident  as  an  American." 

Gardiner's  pitcher  measured  his  man  critic- 
ally, then  signaled  the  next  ball. 

It  came,  just  as  Dick,  closely  watching  the 
pitcher,  expected  it  to  come,  a  swift,  graceful 
out-curve. 

Bang! 

At  least  it  sounded  like  a  gunshot.  Dick  Pres- 
cott  struck  the  ball  with  all  his  might.  He 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     191 

struck  with  greatest  force  just  barely  below  the 
center  of  the  sphere. 

It  was  a  fearful  crack,  aimed  right  and  full 
of  steam  and  speed. 

"Wow!" 

Three  base-runners,  at  the  first  sound  had 
started  running  for  all  they  were  worth.  Dick's 
bat  flew  like  a  projectile  itself,  fortunately  hit- 
ting no  one,  and  Prescott  was  running  like 
Greek  of  old  on  the  Olympic  field. 

One  man  in ! 

The  ball  had  gone  past  the  furthest  limits  of 
outfield.  Before  it  had  touched  the  ground 
Dick  Prescott  touched  first  and  started  for  sec- 
ond. 

Gardiner  right  and  left  fields  were  running 
a  race  with  center  field. 

The  latter  was  the  one  to  get  it,  but  his  two 
supporters  simply  couldn't  stand  still. 

Prescott  kicked  the  second  bag.  Almost  at 
the  same  instant  the  second  man  was  in. 

Score  tied! 

What  about  that  ball? 

It  was  rolling  on  the  ground,  now,  many  yards 
ahead  of  the  flying  centerfield. 

Dick  was  nearing  third,  the  man  ahead  of  him 
fast  nearing  the  home  plate. 

Centerfield  had  the  ball  in  his  hands,  whirling 
as  if  on  springs. 


192     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Third  man  safe  home — Dick  Prescott  turning 
the  third  bag  and  into  the  last  leg  of  the  dia- 
mond. 

Centerfield  threw  with  all  his  might,  but  the 
distance  was  long. 

Second  base  had  to  stoop  for  the  ball.  Even 
at  that,  it  got  past  his  hands.  He  wheeled, 
bolted  after  the  ball,  got  it  and  made  a  throw 
to  the  catcher. 

Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  young  Prescott 
saw  the  arching  ball  descend,  a  good  throw  and 
a  true  one. 

Yet,  ere  it  landed  in  the  catcher's  hand,  Dick, 
by  the  fraction  of  a  second,  had  sprinted  desper- 
ately across  the  home  plate. 

' '  Runner  safe  home ! ' ' 

"Whoo-oopee!     Wow!  wow!  wow!"  rang 
the  chorus  of  thousands. 

"Four  to  two!" 

"What  about  Gridley,  now?" 

"What  about  Dick  Prescott!" 

Then  words  were  lost  in  volleys  of  cheers. 
The  Gardiner  fans  who  had  risen  to  cheer 
slipped  dejectedly  down  from  the  stand. 

And  Dick  Prescott? 

While  running  he  had  given  no  thought  to  his 
knee. 

Now,  as  he  dashed  across  the  plate,  and 
heard  the  umpire's  decision,  he  tried  to  stop, 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHES     193 

but  slipped  and  went  down.  He  tried  to  rise, 
but  found  it  would  be  better  to  sit  where  he 
was. 

The  game  was  over.  Gridley,  having  made 
the  winning  runs  in  the  last  half  of  the  ninth,  the 
rules  of  the  game  forbade  any  further  attempts 
to  pile  up  score. 

One  of  the  first  of  the  great  crowd  to  leap 
over  into  the  field  and  cross  the  diamond  was 
Coach  Luce.  He  ran  straight  to  the  young 
pitcher's  side,  kneeling  close  by  him. 

"You've  given  your  knee  a  fearful  twist,  Pres- 
cott.  I  could  see  it,"  said  Luce  sympathetically. 

"What  do  I  care?"  Dick  called  back,  his 
face  beaming.  "The  score's  safe,  isn't  it?" 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  state  of  his  knee  Pres- 
cott  would  have  been  snatched  up  by  a  dozen 
hands  and  rushed  across  the  field  in  triumph. 
But  Mr.  Luce  waved  them  all  back.  Dick's 
father  and  mother  came  hurrying  across  the 
field  to  see  what  was  wrong  with  their  boy. 

"Let  me  lean  on  you  as  I  get  up,  Mr.  Luce," 
begged  Dick,  and  the  coach  was  only  too  quick 
to  help  the  boy  to  his  feet.  Then,  with  the  aid 
of  Luce's  arm,  Dick  was  able  to  show  his  par- 
ents that  he  could  walk  without  too  much  of  a 
limp. 

"You  did  it  for  us,  Dick,  old  boy!"  greeted 
Captain  Purcell,  as  soon  as  he  could  get  close. 

J3~-  The  High  School  Pitcher. 


194     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"Did  I?"  snorted  the  young  pitcher.  "I 
thought  there  were  four  of  us  in  it,  with  five 
others  helping  a  bit." 

"It  was  the  crack  you  gave  that  ball  that 
brought  us  in,"  glowed  Purcell.  "Gracious,  I 
don't  believe  that  Gardiner  pitcher  was  ever 
stung  as  badly  as  that  before!" 

The  band  was  playing,  now.  As  the  strain 
stopped,  and  the  young  pitcher  came  across  the 
field,  leaning  now  on  Dave  Damn's  arm,  the 
music  crashed  out  again  into  "Hail  to  the 
Chief!" 

"You  see,  Purcell.  You're  getting  your  share 
of  the  credit  now,"  laughed  Dick.  "The  band 
is  playing  something  about  a  captain,  isn't  it?'' 

In  the  dressing  room  Dick  had  abundant  of- 
fers of  help.  Fred  Ripley  was  the  only  silent 
one  in  the  group.  He  changed  his  togs  for 
street  clothes  as  quickly  as  he  could  and  disap- 
peared. Later,  Dave  Darrin  and  Greg  Holmes 
helped  Dick  on  to  a  street  car,  and  saw  him 
safely  home.  That  knee  required  further  treat- 
ment by  Dr.  Bentley,  but  there  was  time,  now, 
and  no  game  depending  on  the  result. 

"Fred,  I  can't  say  much  for  your  appetite  to- 
night," remarked  his  father  at  the  evening  meal. 

"Neither  can  I,  sir,"  Fred  answered. 

"Are  you  out  of  sorts?" 

"Never  felt  any  better,  sir." 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     195 

"  Being  out  in  the  open  air  all  this  April  after- 
noon should  have  given  you  an  appetite. 

"I  didn't  do  anything  this  afternoon,  except 
sit  around  in  my  ball  togs, ' '  Fred  grumbled. 

"I  hope  you'll  have  a  few  good  games  to 
pitch  this  season,"  his  father  went  on.  "You 
worked  hard  enough,  and  I  spent  money  enough 
on  the  effort  to  prepare  you." 

"You  can't  beat  some  people's  luck — unless 
you  do  it  with  a  club, ' '  grumbled  Fred,  absently. 

"Eh?"  asked  his  father,  looking  up  sharply 
from  his  plate.  But  the  boy  did  not  explain. 

Late  that  night,  however,  breaking  training 
rules  for  the  tenth  time,  Fred  was  out  on  the 
sly  to  meet  Tip  Scammon.  The  pair  of  them 
laid  plans  that  aimed  to  stop  Dick  Prescott's 
career  as  High  School  pitcher. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

SOME   MEAN   TRICKS   LEFT   OVER 

MR.  SCHIMMELPODT  had  offered  that 
fifty  dollars  in  a  moment  of  undue 
excitement. 

For  two  or  three  days  afterward  he  won- 
dered if  he  couldn't  find  some  way  out  of 
"spending"  the  money  that  would  yet  let  him 
keep  his  self-respect. 


Finding,  at  last,  that  he  could  not,  he  wrote 
out  the  check  and  mailed  it.  He  pinned  the 
check  to  a  half-sheet  of  paper  on  which  he 
wrote,  "Kah  mit  Prescott!" 

A  few  days  later  Mr.  Schimmelpodt  turned 
from  Main  Street  into  the  side  street  on  which 
Dick's  parents  kept  their  store  and  their  home. 

"Ach!  Und  dere  is  de  door  vot  that  hoy 
lives  by,"  thought  Mr.  Schimmelpodt,  just  be- 
fore he  passed  Dick's  door.  "Ven  der  game 
over  was,  und  I  saw  dot  boy  go  down — ach!" 

For  Mr.  Schimmelpodt  had  suited  the  action 
to  the  word.  Out  from  under  him  his  feet  shot. 
But  Mr.  Schimmelpodt,  being  short  and  flabby 
of  leg,  with  a  bulky  body  above,  came  down  as 
slowly  as  big  bodies  are  supposed  to  move.  It 
was  rather  a  gradual  tumble.  Having  so  much 
fat  on  all  portions  of  his  body  Mr.  Schimmel- 
podt came  down  with  more  astonishment  than 
jar. 

"Ach !  Such  a  slipperyishness ! "  he  grunted. 
"Hey,  Bresgott !— look  out!" 

The  door  had  opened  suddenly  at  this  early 
hour  in  the  morning.  Dick,  charged  with  doing 
a  breakfast  errand  for  his  mother  at  the  last 
moment,  sprang  down  the  steps  and  started  to 
sprint  away. 

At  the  first  step  on  the  sidewalk,  however, 
Dick's  landing  foot  shot  out  from  under  him. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     197 

He  tried  to  bring  the  other  down  in  time  to  save 
himself.  That,  too,  slipped.  Dick  waved  his 
arms,  wind-mill  fashion  in  the  quick  effort  to 
save  himself. 

"Bresgott,"  observed  the  seated  contractor, 
solemnly,  "I  bet  you  five  tollars  to  den  cents 
dot  you " 

Here  Schimmelpodt  waited  until  Dick  settled 
the  question  of  the  center  of  gravity  by  sprawl- 
ing on  the  sidewalk. 

" dot  you  fall,"  finished  the  German, 

gravely.  *  *  Und  I  vin ! ' ' 

"Why,  good  morning,  Mr.  Schimmelpodt, " 
Dick  responded,  as  he  started  to  get  up.  "What 
are  you  doing  here." 

'  *  Oh,  choost  vaiting  to  see  bis  you  do  the  same 
thing,"  grunted  the  contractor.  "It  was  great 
sport — not?" 

"Decidedly  'not,'  "  laughed  Dick,  stepping 
gingerly  over  a  sidewalk  that  had  been  spread 
thinly  with  some  sticky  substance.  "Can  I  help 
you  up,  Mr.  Schimmelpodt?" 

The  German,  who  knew  his  own  weight, 
glanced  at  the  boy's  slight  figure  rather  doubt- 
fully. 

"Bresgott,  how  many  horsepower  are  you 
alretty?" 

But  Dick,  standing  carefully  so  that  he  would 
not  slip  again,  displayed  more  strength  than 


198     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

the  contractor  had  expected.  In  another  mo- 
ment the  German  was  on  his  feet,  moving  cau- 
tiously away,  his  eyes  on  the  sidewalk.  Yet  he 
did  not  forget  to  mutter  his  thanks  to  the  boy. 

As  Dick  now  went  on  his  way  again,  slipping 
around  the  corner  and  into  a  bakeshop,  he  no- 
ticed that  his  right  wrist  felt  a  bit  queer. 

"Well,  I  haven't  broken  anything,"  he  mur- 
mured, feeling  of  the  wrist  with  his  left  hand. 
"But  what  on  earth  happened  to  the  sidewalk." 

As  he  paused  before  his  door  on  the  way  back, 
he  looked  carefully  down  at  the  sidewalk.  Right 
before  the  door  several  flags  in  the  walk  ap- 
peared to  be  thinly  coated  with  some  colorless 
specimen  of  slime. 

"It  looks  as  though  it  might  be  soft  soap," 
pondered  Prescott,  examining  the  stuff  more 
closely.  "It'll  be  dry  in  a  half  an  hour  more, 
but  I  think  I  had  better  fix  it." 

In  the  basement  was  a  barrel  of  sand  that 
was  used  for  sanding  the  icy  sidewalk  in  win- 
ter. As  soon  as  Dick  had  run  upstairs  with 
the  bread  he  went  below,  got  a  few  handfuls  of 
sand  and  fixed  the  sidewalk. 

At  recess  Dick  noticed  just  enough  about  his 
wrist  to  make  him  speak  about  it  to  Submaster 
Luce. 

"Let  me  see  it,"  demanded  coach.  "Hm!" 
ihe  muttered.  "Another  peculiar  accident,  and 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     199 

only  two  days  before  our  game  with  Chichester ! 
See  Dr.  Bentley  about  your  wrist  at  his  office 
this  afternoon.  I'm  beginning  to  think,  Pres- 
cott,  that  it's  a  fortunate  thing  for  you  that  the 
medical  director  is  paid  out  of  the  fund.  You'd 
bankrupt  an  ordinary  citizen  if  you're  going  to 
keep  on  having  these  tumbles. ' ' 

Dr.  Bentley 's  verdict  was  that,  while  the  wrist 
was  not  in  a  condition  that  need  bother  men 
much  in  ordinary  callings,  yet,  as  a  pitcher's 
wrist,  it  would  need  rest  and  care. 

"I've  just  got  the  tip  that  I'm  to  pitch  in  the 
Chichester  game,"  said  Dave,  coming  to  his 
chum  that  afternoon. 

"Yes;  Doc  thinks  I  ought  to  look  after  this 
wrist — that  it  wouldn't  stand  extraordinary 
strain  during  the  next  few  days.  But,  Dave, 
old  fellow,  watch  out!  Keep  your  eye  on  the 
sidewalks  near  your  home.  Don't  prowl  in 
lonely  places  after  dark.  Act  as  if  you  were 
made  of  glass  until  you  get  on  the  field  at  the 
Chichester  game." 

Darrin  glanced  shrewdly  at  his  friend,  then 
nodded. 

"I'm  on,  Dick!  Confound  that  fellow,  Rip- 
ley.  And  he's  as  slick  and  slippery  as  an  eel. 
I  don't  suppose  there  is  any  way  that  we  can 
catch  him?" 

"If  I  knew  a  way  I'd  use  it,"  growled  Pres- 


200     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

cott.  "I'm  sick  of  having  this  thing  so  one- 
sided. Ripley  plans,  and  we  pay  the  piper." 

"I'd  like  to  get  proof  enough  to  justify  me 
in  calling  him  to  account,"  Dave  added. 

Dave  did  take  care  of  himself,  and  pitched 
in  the  game  with  Chichester,  which,  like  the 
first,  was  on  the  Gridley  grounds.  It  was  a 
close  game,  won  by  Gridley,  two  to  one. 

The  home  fans  were  jubilant.  One  of  them 
on  the  way  home  said  to  Coach  Luce : 

"Prescott  and  Darrin  are  the  best  high  school 
pitchers  I've  ever  seen.  How  about  Ripley?" 

"He  made  a  good  showing  in  try  outs  but  we 
haven't  had  him  in  the  field  yet.  I'll  put  him 
in  for  the  next  game,  which  is  with  Brayton 
High  School  over  on  their  grounds." 

Brayton 's  team  was  a  weak  one.  What  the 
coach  did  not  tell  his  friend  was  that  he  was 
afraid  to  put  Fred  Eipley  in  on  one  of  the  big 
games,  not  because  Fred  could  not  pitch — he 
could — but  because  of  weakness  of  character 
and  temper  it  could  never  be  foreseen  when  the 
boy  would  crack. 

The  day  for  the  game  with  Brayton  came. 
With  Ripley  in  the  box,  Gridley  won  five  to  two. 
The  coach  felt  that  the  game  should  have  been 
a  whitewash,  but  to  hear  Fred  Ripley  tell  it 
one  might  have  thought  Gridley  had  defeated 
a  team  in  the  big  league. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     201 

The  season  advanced.  Dick  pitched  two 
games,  winning  the  first  and  tying  the  second. 
In  between  these  Darrin  pitched  a  game,  which 
was  won  by  a  score  of  three  to  two.  Then 
came  a  game  with  a  team  not  much  above 
Brayton  in  playing  ability,  the  Cedarville  High 
School. 

Fred  Ripley  was  notified  that  he  would  be 
pitcher  in  this  game,  and  again  did  he  boast 
and  strut.  All  through  the  Saturday  morning 
of  the  game  he  moved  about  in  a  trance  of 
exultation.  Just  before  lunch  time  Mr.  Kipley 
got  home  and,  having  seen  a  man  in  his  library, 
went  in  search  of  his  wife. 

" Where's  Fred?"  he  asked. 

"Out  for  a  brisk  walk.  You  know,  my  dear, 
he's  to  pitch  for  one  of  the  biggest  games  of 
the  season  this  afternoon." 

"Hm!  Well,  let  Fred  have  his  lunch.  Say 
nothing  until  he's  through,  then  send  him  to 
me  in  the  library." 

"Is  anything  wrong?"  Mrs.  Ripley  was  im- 
mediately worried. 

"I  want  to  talk  something  over  with  Fred," 
was  the  noncommittal  rejoinder. 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  Fred  entered  the 
library. 

"Did  you  wish  to  see  me,  Father?  You 
know  I'm  to  pitch  this  afternoon." 


202     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"  I  '11  be  brief,  Fred.  You  know,  I  keep  money 
for  running  expenses  in  that  old-f asMoned  safe 
upstairs,  hiding  the  key  where  either  your 
mother  or  I  can  get  it.  For  some  time  I've 
been  missing  money  from  that  safe.  At  first  I 
thought  I  was  mistaken,  for  it  is  difficult  to 
keep  an  accurate  account  of  money  used  like 
that.  But  it's  got  beyond  the  possibility  of 
mistake.  Have  you  any  theory,  Fred,  that 
would  account  for  the  loss?" 

"Do  you  suspect  any  of  the  servants?"  asked 
the  boy  hastily. 

"All  of  the  servants  have  been  with  us  for 
many  years.  It  would  be  hard  to  suspect  any 
of  them." 

"Whom,  then,  can  you  suspect?" 

"Sometimes  young  people  get  into  scrapes 
without  the  least  intention  of  doing  wrong." 
Here  Mr.  Kipley  paused  a  moment,  then  went 
on:  "Fred,  have  you  been  getting  into  difficul- 
ties from  which  there  seemed  no  way  out? 
Have  you  been  taking  the  money?" 

Fred  hesitated  a  moment,  then  rose  from  his 
chair  and  said  with  a  show  of  pride : 

"Dad,  how  can  you  ask  me  such  a  question?" 

"Because  I  want  a  truthful  answer.  Think, 
Fred,  carefully,  then  answer  me. ' ' 

Again  the  boy  hesitated  for  a  moment.  But 
to  admit  a  fault  or  a  weakness  had  become  al- 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     203 

most  an  impossibility  to  Fred  Eipley,  so  he 
drew  himself  up  and  replied : 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  as  a  Ripley 
that  I  know  nothing  about  the  missing  money." 

The  lawyer  turned  white  and  touched  a  bell. 
The  door  to  a  small  room,  Mr.  Eipley 's  private 
den,  which  opened  from  the  library,  was  pushed 
wide  open  and  a  strange  man  came  forward, 
bringing  with  him — Tip  Scammon. 

"This  is  Mr.  Haight,  a  detective,  Fred,'*  said 
his  father  sorrowfully.  "Early  last  evening 
you  took  out  of  the  safe  four  five-dollar  bills. 
They  were  marked  bills,  which  you  gave  to 
Scammon.  He  says  he  didn't  know  they  were 
stolen,  and  we'll  let  him  go.  But  we  learned 
that  you've  been  paying  blackmail  for  months. 
Why  didn't  you  come  to  me,  Fred?" 

"I  didn't  need  to — you  could  get  a  detective 
to  put  on  the  trail  of  your  son,"  replied  the 
boy  stubbornly. 

"On  the  trail  of  a  thief,  you  mean!" 

At  the  word,  Fred  quailed. 

"Are  you  going  to  let  the  matter  drop?"  he 
finally  managed  to  get  out. 

"No.    But  we'll  settle  it  in  private." 

So  Fred  went  to  the  athletic  field,  but  not  to 
pitch  in  the  game.  He  was  so  shaken  and 
trembling  when  he  reached  there  that  Coach 
Luce  put  in  Dave  Darrin  as  pitcher. 


CHAPTER  XX 

CONCLUSION 

"^T IT  TILL  you  look  at  Rip!" 

^^  No  wonder  the  boys  in  the  school- 
yard stared.  Fred  Ripley  came 
down  the  street  in  a  new  suit.  But  gone  was 
all  his  elegance  of  attire.  He  wore  a  suit  that 
had  cost  just  ten  dollars  and  a  hat  that  was 
no  better.  Even  his  shoes  were  new  and  coarse. 
Fred's  father  had  told  him  that  he  was  not 
fitted  to  have  money  and  that  he  must  learn 
to  live  as  did  the  boys  whose  fathers  had  less. 
Instead  of  bearing  himself  proudly  in  his  new 
clothes,  as  another  boy  might  have  done,  he 
fairly  slunk  along  by  the  school-yard  fence. 

"Say,  Rip,  what's  the  bet?"  demanded  Pur- 
cell,  when  Fred  entered  the  yard. 

"Shut  up!"  and  the  boy  hastened  inside. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  queried  Tom  Reade. 

"A  row  with  his  father,  I  guess,"  said  Dick. 
"I  saw  the  two  of  them  go  into  Marsh's  store 
last  evening." 

"My,  but  we  can  guy  him  at  recess!" 

Dick  Prescott  turned  to  the  boy  who  had 
spoken  and  said  slowly: 

"Ripley  is  down.    Don't  let's  make  it  harder 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     205 

for  him.  Instead  of  guying  him  at  recess,  let's 
go  up  to  him,  not  too  conspicuously,  and  begin 
to  talk  about  baseball  affairs." 

This  was  done.  Purcell  went  to  him  first, 
and,  discussing  baseball,  called  one  boy  to  him 
to  prove  his  point.  Finally  a  group  of  boys, 
among  them  Dick  &  Co.,  were  gathered  in  the 
yard  discussing  the  game.  Fred  talked  eagerly, ; 
if  nervously.  On  the  whole,  he  seemed  grateful. ' 

One  day  Mr.  Ripley  asked  Dick  &  Co.  to  meet 
him  at  his  office.  Wonderingly,  they  went. 
There  they  found  Tip  Scammon. 

"I  wish  you  to  tell  me  if  what  Scammon  says 
is  the  truth,  young  gentlemen,"  said  the  lawyer, 
after  they  were  seated. 

The  boys  were  reluctant  to  say  anything  that 
would  involve  Fred,  but  were  forced  to  admit 
Tip's  tale  as  true. 

It  came  out  that  all  the  attacks  except  the 
throwing  of  a  brickbat  at  Dick  had  been  in- 
stigated by  Fred.  That,  Tip  himself  had 
planned,  intending  to  say  that  Fred  had  hired 
him  for  this  too  and  to  hold  it  as  a  further  club 
over  the  unhappy  boy's  head. 

Presently  Fred  entered  the  office.  After  hear- 
ing what  had  been  said,  he  was  forced  by  his 
father  to  make  an  apology — a  mumbled  one,  to 
be  sure — to  Dick  and  Dave  for  what  he  had 
done. 


206    THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

The  season  was  advanced.  It  was  hot.  But 
one  game  remained  to  be  played.  One  day  the 
high  school  boys  rushed  out  at  recess. 

"Mr.  Cantwell  talks  too  much.  He's  taken 
a  quarter  of  our  time  to-day  to  spout,*'  com- 
plained one  boy. 

"I  say!  Let's  take  our  own  time  in  getting 
back  and  go  now  for  a  swim. ' ' 

Eyes  lighted  up.  The  suggestion  was  popu- 
lar. 

"Say,  Charley  Grady,  you're  studying  to  be 
a  lawyer,"  cried  Dick  Prescott.  "What  was  it 
that  Burke  said  about  punishing  a  commu- 
nity?" 

"Burke  laid  down  the  theory  that  has  since 
become  a  principle  in  law  that  a  whole  com- 
munity cannot  be  indicted." 

1 '  That  'sit!"  exclaimed  Dick.  *  *  We  're  a  com- 
munity! Let's  go  swimming!" 

One  or  two  held  back,  but  the  insistence  of 
the  majority  of  their  fellows  forced  them  to 
join  the  swimming  party. 

When  the  boys  started  back,  late  of  course, 
the  matter  looked  a  bit  more  serious  than  it 
had  when  they  started.  Mr.  Cantwell  had  the 
superintendent  back  of  him,  and  back  of  the 
superintendent  was  the  board  of  education,  and 
perhaps  back  of  the  board  were  the  parents  of 
at  least  some  of  the  boys. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER    207 

"Let's  bunch  it  when  we  get  back,"  suggested 
some  one.  "That  will  make  a  human  round 
robin  and  no  one  can  be  accused  of  being  a 
leader." 

The  principal  looked  up  when  the  boys 
crowded  into  the  assembly  hall.  His  mouth  was 
pinched  and  his  eyes  glowered,  but  nothing  was 
said  until  the  time  for  dismissal  came.  Then 
Mr.  Cantwell  said: 

"The  young  ladies  are  dismissed  for  the  day. 
The  young  gentlemen  will  remain." 

After  the  girls  had  left  the  room  there  was 
dead  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Then — 

"Where  were  you  at  the  end  of  recess?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  no  one  in 
particular,  so  no  one  answered. 

"Where  were  you,  Purcell?" 

* '  Swimming  at  Foster 's  Pond,  Mr.  Cantwell. ' ' 

"All  of  you?" 

"All  of  us,  I  think." 

"Who  proposed  going?" 

"That  would  be  hard  to  say.  It  was  an  im- 
pulse that  came  to  us  all  at  once,  I  might  say. 
But,  Mr.  Cantwell,  perhaps  Mr.  Grady,  who  is 
studying  to  be  a  lawyer,  can  represent  us." 

"Ah?  Let  me  hear  your  great  legal  author- 
ity. Mr.  Grady,  what  have  you  to  say?" 

Charley  Grady  bobbed  up,  outwardly  con- 
fident, inwardly  quaking. 


208     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

"Mr.  Principal, "  began  Grady,  thrusting  his 
right  hand  forward,  "the  illustrious  Burke  once 
elucidated  a  principle  that  has  since  become 
authoritative.  Among  American  and  English 
jurists  alike,  Burke 's  principle  has  been  ac- 
cepted as  akin  to  the  organic  law.  The  prin- 
ciple is  that  a  whole  community  cannot  be  in- 
dicted." 

Mr.  Cantwell,  for  a  wonder,  waited  until 
Grady  had  finished.  Then  he  said : 

"I  do  not  venture  to  gainsay  Burke.  But 
the  indictment  of  the  community  in  this  case 
would  mean  the  expulsion  of  all  the  young  men 
in  the  high  school.  I  do  not  lean  to  this.  A 
form  of  punishment  might  be  to  prohibit  the 
last  baseball  game  of  the  season,  or,  perhaps, 
to  withhold  the  diplomas  of  the  graduating 
class.  I  will  announce  my  decision  later.  Dis- 
missed." 

There  was  an  uproar  of  talk  when  the  boys 
left  the  building.  Dick  Prescott  alone  said 
nothing;  but  that  evening  when  Mr.  Cantwell 
went  to  consult  his  backer  on  the  board  of 
education  he  was  advised  to  let  the  matter 
drop  then  and  there.  He  was  reluctant,  but 
yielded  when  Mr.  Gadsby  remarked: 

"You  know,  Cantwell,  we  can't  afford  to  get 
the  'Blade'  down  on  us.  It  won't  be  if  the 
punishment  fits  the  crime." 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER    209 

It  was  finally  agreed  that  the  punishment 
should  have  taken  place  at  once,  for  everything 
that  Mr.  Cantwell  suggested  now,  since  the  de- 
lay, seemed  too  severe  to  Mr.  Gadsby,  who  held 
his  position  by  a  very  small  majority  and  feared 
for  his  reelection. 

Soon  after  this  the  day  for  the  final  game 
arrived.  Gridley  High  School  had  a  season's 
record  so  far  of  one  game  tied  and  a  long  tally 
of  victories.  This  perfect  June  day  had  brought 
out  a  host  of  spectators. 

Victory  was  less  easy  than  the  Gridley  sup- 
porters had  imagined  it  would  be,  and  they 
grew  more  and  more  despondent.  When,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  last  half  of  the  ninth  inning 
the  score  stood  seven  to  six,  in  favor  of  Gridley, 
yes,  but  with  the  doughty  players  on  the  Way- 
land  High  School  nine  coming  to  bat,  calls  and 
pleadings  arose  from  the  spectators. 

"Go  to  it,  Gridley!" 

"No  defeats  this  year !    Don't  give  in  now!" 

But  it  looked  dubious.  The  Waylanders 
were  good  fighters.  One  run  would  make  a  tie, 
and  run  the  game  to  a  tenth  inning.  Two  runs ! 
But  why  think  of  such  a  contingency? 

The  umpire  called  for  play,  and  a  hush  fell 
over  the  benches. 

Dick  sent  over  a  tantalizing  spit-ball. 

"Strike  one!" 


210    THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

Pitcher  Dick  served  the  second  ball. 

Swat!  It  arched  high  in  the  air.  Holmes 
was  after  it  in  a  twinkling.  He  picked  up  the 
ball  and  made  a  sure  throw.  But  Wayland 
had  a  man  on  first  by  the  time  the  ball  was  in. 

His  lips  close  together,  Dick  tried  a  new 
batsman.  Two  strikes,  then  the  visitor  sent 
out  a  little  pop-over  that  touched  ground  and 
rolled  before  Hazelton  could  race  in  and  get 
it,  driving  it  on  to  first  base. 

1 '  Safe  at  first, '  '  called  the  umpire.  The  other 
Waylander  had  reached  second. 

"0-o-oh,  Dick!" 

It  was  a  wail,  almost  of  despair.  Though  he 
paid  no  direct  heed  to  it,  the  sorely  pressed 
pitcher  felt  the  strain  the  more  because  of  it. 

"Go  to  it,  Dickson!  Kill  the  ball!"  called 
the  visiting  fans  to  the  third  man  up.  "A 
two-bagger !  That's  all  we  ask ! ' ' 

Dick  essayed  a  jump  ball  for  which  Dickson 
reached.  He  struck  it,  but  feebly.  Another 
short-winded,  high-arched  pop  went  in  the  air. 

There  was  no  hope  for  Hazelton  to  get  to  the 
spot  in  time,  and  Wayland 's  man,  away  from 
third,  was  racing  in  while  Purcell  made  the 
home  plate  at  a  bound. 

Dick  ran.  In  his  speed  he  went  too  far.  The 
ball  was  sure  to  come  down  behind  him.  So, 
running  at  full  speed  as  he  was,  the  pitcher 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER     211 

rose  in  the  air.  It  seemed  an  incredible  leap, 
but  he  made  it.  He  pulled  the  ball  down  out 
of  the  air.  Barely  did  his  feet  touch  the  ground 
again  when  he  reached  over  and  dropped  the 
ball  at  Purcell. 

The  captain  of  the  Gridley  nine  dropped  to 
one  knee,  hands  low,  and  took  the  leather  in, 
just  a  shadow  of  a  second  before  the  Waylander 
from  third  got  there. 

1 '  Batter  out !    Out  at  home  plate.    Two  out ! ' ' 

Dick  refused  to  have  a  relief  pitcher  put  in, 
for  Wayland  was  using  one  man  throughout. 
But  he  took  time  before  pitching  his  next  ball, 
for  he  had  need  of  what  rest  he  could  snatch. 

Sandwiched  in  between  two  strikes  came 
called  balls  enough  to  send  the  new  batsman  to 
first,  and  again  the  bases  were  full.  One  more 
"  break,"  and  Wayland  would  receive  the  tie 
run  as  a  gift.  Then  one  more —  It  could  not 
be  thought  of!  Dick  Prescott  braced  himself. 

"Strike  one!"    Then,  "Strike  two!" 

Click!  and  a  grounding  ball  struck  the  grit 
and  rolled  toward  right  infield.  No  shortstop 
was  here,  and  Dick  was  at  once  on  the  run. 

When  Dick  Prescott  wheeled  with  the  ball 
Wayland 's  man  from  third  looked  three-fourths 
of  the  way  in.  Into  his  throw  Dick  put  all  the 
energy  he  had  left.  There  was  silence  in  the 
throng  for  a  brief  moment. 


212     THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  PITCHER 

' '  Out  at  home — three  out ! ' ' 

Then  came  the  cheers  and  the  loud  tootings 
of  the  band.  Herr  Schimmelpodt  was  so  en- 
thusiastic that,  waiting  for  the  crowd  to  thin, 
he  bore  down  on  Dick  and  promised  him  a 
"lofely  jointed  fishing  rod,  marked  down  only 
dis  mornings  from  two  dollar  till  one-nineteen, 
Bresgott." 

It  was  after  Commencement  Day  that  Dr. 
Bentley  approached  Dick  Prescott  and  asked 
about  his  plans  for  the  summer. 

"Reporting  for  the  'Blade/  Doctor." 

"Humph.  Better  take  a  vacation.  In  fact, 
we're  going  into  camp  for  the  summer,  Belle 
Meade  going  with  us.  She  and  Laura  wish  to 
have  the  whole  of  Dick  &  Co.  visit  us  for  part 
of  the  time.  I  hope  you'll  come." 

Dick's  eyes  glowed,  and  he  thanked  the 
doctor,  saying  he  was  sure  he  could  go  for  a 
time.  The  other  boys  were  overjoyed,  and  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  enthusiastically. 

The  reader  will  wish  to  follow  Dick  &  Co.'s 
adventures,  so  he  is  referred  to  "THE  HIGH 
SCHOOL  LEFT  END;  or,  Dick  &  Co.  Grilling  on 
the  Football  Gridiron,"  and  "THE  HIGH 
SCHOOL  BOYS  IN  SUMMER  CAMP;  or,  The  Dick 
Prescott  Six  Training  for  the  Gridley  Eleven. ' ' 

THE  END 


And  There  Are  Others! 

You  will  find  other  books 
listed  on  the  three  following 
pages  that  will  prove  just 
as  interesting  reading  as 
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THE  ANNAPOLIS  SERIES 

By  H.  IRVING  HANCOCK 

PRICE,  $1.00  EACH 


DAVE-DARRINS 
•  FIRST-YEAR 
AT-ANNAPOUS 


Dave  Damn  and  Dan  Dalzell  proved 
their  mettle  at  the  U.  S.  Naval  Academy 
and  gave  promise  of  what  might  be  ex- 
pected of  them  in  the  great  war  that 
was  even  at  that  moment  hovering  over 
the  world. 

1.  DAVE  DARRIN'S  FIRST  YEAR  AT  AN- 

NAPOLIS; or,  Two  Plebe  Midshipmen  at 
the  U.  S.  Naval  Academy. 

2.  DAVE    DARRIN'S    SECOND    YEAR    AT 

"ANNAPOLIS;    or,    Two    Midshipmen    as 
Naval  Academy  "Youngsters." 

3.  DAVE  DARRIN'S  THIRD  YEAR  AT  ANNAPOLIS;  or,  Leaders  of 

the  Second  Class  Midshipmen. 

4.  DAVE  DARRIN'S  FOURTH  YEAR  AT  ANNAPOLIS;  or.  Headed 

for  Graduation  and  the  Big  Cmise. 


THE  WEST  POINT  SERIES 

By  H.  IRVING  HANCOCK 

PRICE,  $1.00  EACH 

Dick  Prescott  and  Greg  Holmes  are  not  human  wonders, 
but  a  pair  of  average  bright  American  boys  who  had  a  hard 
enough  time  working  their  way  through  West  Point.  Their 
experiences  will  inspire  all  other  American  boys. 

1.  DICK    PRESCOTT'S   FIRST   YEAR  AT  WEST   POINT;   or,  Two 

Chums  in  the  Cadet  Gray. 

2.  DICK  PRESCOTT'S  SECOND  YEAR  AT  WEST  POINT;  or,  Find- 

ing the  Glory  of  the  Soldier's  Life. 

3.  DICK  PRESCOTT'S  THIRD  YEAR  AT  WEST  POINT;  or,  Stand- 

ing  Firm  for  Flag  and  Honor. 

4.  DICK  PRESCOTT'S  FOURTH  YEAR  AT  WEST  POINT;  or,  Brady 

to  Drop  the  Gray  for  Shoulder  Straps. 


THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  SERIES 


By  FRANK  GEE  PATCHIN 

PRICE,   $1.00    EACH 

This  unusual  and  popular  series 
tells  vividly  the  story  of  four  adven- 
ture-loving lads,  who,  with  their 
guardian,  spent  their  summer  vaca- 
tions in  the  saddle  in  search  of 
recreation  and  healthful  adventure. 
Long  journeys  over  mountain, 
through  the  fastness  of  primitive 
forest  and  across  burning  desert, 
lead  them  into  the  wild  places  of 
their  native  land  as  well  as  into 
many  strange  and  exciting  expe- 
riences. There  is  not  a  dull  moment 
in  the  series. 

1.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  THE  ROCKIES;  or,  The  Secret  ol 

the  Lost  Claim. 

2.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  TEXAS;  or,  The  Veiled  Riddle  of 

the  Plains. 

3.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  MONTANA;  or,  The  Mystery  of 

the  Old  Custer  Trail. 

4.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  THE  OZARKS;  or,  The  Secret  of 

Ruby  Mountain. 

5.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  THE  ALKALI;  or,  Finding  a  Key 

to  the  Desert  Maze. 

6.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  NEW  MEXICO;  or,  The  End  of 

the  Silver  Trail. 

7.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  THE  GRAND  CANYON;  or,  The 

Mystery  of  Bright  Angel  Gulch. 

8.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  WITH  THE  TEXAS  RANGERS;  or, 

On  the  Trail  of  the  Border  Bandits. 

9.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  ON  THE  BLUE  RIDGE;  or,  A  L«cky 

Find  in  the   Carolina  Mountains. 

10.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND;  or,  An  Exciting 

Quest  in  the  Maine  Wilderness. 

11.  THE   PONY   RIDER  BOYS   IN   LOUISIANA;   or,   Following  the 

Game  Trails  in  the  Canebrake. 

12.  THE  PONY  RIDER  BOYS  IN  ALASKA;  or,  The  Gold  Diggers  of 

Taku  Pass. 


THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  GIRLS  SERIES 

By  JESSIE  GRAHAM  FLOWER,  A.  M. 

PRICE,  $1.00  EACH 


Grace  Harlowe's 

Plebe  Year 
at  High  School 


The  scenes,  episodes,  and  adventures 
through  which  Grace  Harlowe  and  her 
intimate  chums  pass  in  the  course  of 
these  stories  are  pictured  with  a  vivacity 
that  at  once  takes  the  young  feminine 
captive. 

1.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  PLEBE  YEAR  AT 

HIGH  SCHOOL;  or,  The  Merry  Doings  of 
the  Oakdale  Freshmen  Girls. 

2.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  SOPHOMORE  YEAR 

AT  HIGH  SCHOOL;  or,  The  Record  of  the 
Girl  Chums  in  Work  and  Athletics. 

9.  GRACE    HARLOWE'S  JUNIOR  YEAR  AT   HIGH    SCHOOL;   or, 
Fast  Friends  in  the  Sororities. 

4.  GRACE   HARLOWE'S   SENIOR   YEAH  AT  HIGH   SCHOOL;    or, 
The  Parting  of  the  Ways, 


THE  COLLEGE  GIRLS  SERIES 

By  JESSIE  GRAHAM  FLOWER,  A.  M. 

PRICE,  $1.00  EACH 

Every  school  and  college  girl  will  recognize  that  the  ac- 
count of  Grace  Harlowe's  experiences  at  Overton  College  is 
true  to  life. 

1.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  FIRST  YEAR  AT  OVERTON  COLLEGE. 

2.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  SECOND  YEAR  AT  OVERTON  COLLEGE. 

3.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  THIRD  YEAR  AT  OVERTON  COLLEGE. 

4.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  FOURTH  YEAR  AT  OVERTON  COLLEGE. 
fi.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  RETURN  TO  OVERTON  CAMPUS. 

6.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  PROBLEM. 

7.  GRACE  HARLOWE'S  GOLDEN  SUMMER. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000473352    3 


